When I was growing up, we used to have a phrase in our house that was reserved for one particular day of the week. It was "Happy Sunday" and we used it to mean exactly the opposite of what it sounds like.
Sundays in our house were generally crabby. Parents dreading the start of the work week and barking out orders to pick up the house; kids putting off due-on-Monday homework and bickering and fighthing as a result of not enough sleep. By about two or three o'clock in the afternoon, at least one or two of us kids would roll our eyes and declare "Happy Sunday!" in our most cynical voices.
And now I am a grown up and it's Sunday in our house. I'm the one barking out the orders and wishing that homework/dishes/laundry/bills had been attended to earlier in the weekend. And my children are the ones saying, "Please! We're not going to clean again!" (You know because they just cleaned their rooms seven days ago.)
Truthfully, today I would love to play "Mommy's legs are broken and she can't get off the couch." If for no other reason than I could say that we honor the 4th commandment, "Keep holy the day of the Lord."
But there will be no clean dishes for dinner tonight and no clean underwear for school/work tomorrow. Of course, the latter wouldn't bother Robbie and Charlie; they prefer going commando anyway. (Why is that? If there are any men/boys reading this, can you please explain the appeal of going commando?)
And so, I carry on the tradition started when I was a little girl. And hopefully by dinner time tonight, the tasks will be done and we can all settle into the family room for a little "America's Funniest Home Videos." Then might actually feel like a happy Sunday.
Of course, it's only after I'd taken 15 minutes to write this that I realized the irony in me going on about how much there is to do, yet I'm sitting in this chair, doing something that clearly could wait!