I Am A Willow Tree

 I twist.  I bend.  I follow the wind.  I am a willow tree. Because I’m a woman, duh. 

It’s Monday, the first day of this blog and the first day of the week.  This Monday begins like every other: iPhone alarm set to “Smoke Detector” goes off, beagle howls, (BREAKFAST!) twins shuffle to the kettle, husband just a week-end memory leaving me empty hangers in the bathroom, and the piece de resistance:  tall, brooding teenager mole-eyes it to the shower mumbling something in my direction.  I prefer to believe it is “Good morning lovely Mother, may I have something to drink?”  It was more likely, “Ineedcoffeewhereareallthetowels?”

I should be used to this by now, I’ve been a Mom for nearly 16 years, but for some reason I am optimistic enough to believe that THIS Monday I will have a schedule that will be FIXED for the entire week.  I will get to the gym every day, be at work when I plan on it and always have at least one gallon of milk in the fridge.  It doesn’t sound like too much to ask.

Suddenly the teenager appears, “I need to stay after on Wednesday, so I’ll need a ride.” Twin #1 remembers “My report is due tomorrow and I hardly started!” Husband texts  “I’ll be out late tonight.” Email from a client “Can we meet late afternoon on Wednesday?” It isn’t even 7 am. 

Needing to fix my tea, I reach for the milk only to discover the jug is empty. There’s a little milk leftover in the bottom of twin #2’s discarded cereal bowl.  Excellent, I don’t even need to add sugar.  I am a willow tree.