Manic Mondays? How's About Stressed Out Sundays?

The Doctor has a shirt that L loves quoting.  The shirt has 3 half filled glasses on it.  The first glass is smiling and says, "I'm half full!".  The second glass is frowning and says, "I'm half empty!" and the third glass looks disgusted and says, "I think I'm full of pee."

I try so hard to be the half full glass.  I don't like being grumpy and I always try to have an optimistic view on life.  It takes a lot of strength to be sad, bitter, angry and I'm quite a lazy person.  I'd rather save my energy and be happy.  Sometimes, though, being happy isn't an easy choice.

Every once in a while, I wake up with a gray rain cloud over my head.  My sweet, sunny disposition is replaced by the grumps and it is a shock for all of us.  No matter how hard I try, I only see the half empty view.

Days like this, I need to try even harder to choose happy.  Days like this, not yelling is very hard and while I've gotten pretty good about not yelling, my poor pen got the brunt of my frustration this morning when B's tweeny ways got the better of me.  "But, you didn't yell," The Doctor pointed out facetiously.  Perhaps my next challenge will be being nicer to writing utensils.

When the girls are grumps in the morning, I always hit their do-over button.  I push their belly button and make a few "beep, boop, beep" noises.  It always gets a smile and their attitudes suddenly change.  I need a do over button (that doesn't involve my body).  

Sundays are the worst.  I love weekends, don't get me wrong, but by Sunday I'm overwhelmed with what has to take place to get us ready for the week.  Usually, Saturday was a Sloth day where we lounge around doing nothing, so Sunday is spent putting the house in order, making my grocery list and updating my weekly lunch and dinner menus.  The girls still lay around complaining when I put them to work and I end up feeling frustrated beyond belief.

I often feel like I need to do something to shake the grumpies.  The first thought that comes to mind is running.  In my head, I envision myself lacing up a pair of sneakers and going out for a run around the block.  Then, I come to my senses and remember why I don't run.  I don't even like thinking about running!

By Sunday night, when the girls are in bed with clothes laid out, lunches are made and I'm sitting down with The Doctor to veg out, all is right again in my little world, the gray cloud having dissipated into a sun again somewhere in the late afternoon and I feel more like myself.  If only I could feel like that throughout the day. . . Sundays would be great.