Monday, Monday

The seven days of the week should be renamed. Perhaps instead of Monday, the second day of the week should be called Retraining Day. Of course, being the lazy society we are and for those whose thumbs can move faster while texting than their running feet we could shorten Retraining Day to RD. RD would be duly crowned as the first day of the work week.

Retraining Day is not new to the home daycare provider. One can only assume other industry professionals such as teachers, and daycare centre employees are also familiar with Retraining Day. For it is on Monday of every week that we find ourselves retraining each and every child and parent that steps in our front door during those early morning hours.

I am quite certain that something terrible must be happening in the environment of these childrens' homes. There could be no other answer other than some sort of brain cell depleting mist being emitted in their homes. What else could account for the fact that every single Monday they appear to have forgotten that my house has a certain set of fair and reasonable rules.

Just as when you left care of Friday the rule still stands that you are not allowed to jump on my furniture. Maybe mommy and daddy allow you to use their living room like a trampoline wonderland but I will not. So, little Johnny, get the hell off my couch!

And did daycare mom forget there is a carpet located on the floor in my foyer? Or did she just assume I have nothing to do all day but clean up the tile that she seems to think it okay to step on? Was the sixteen square feet of space not enough to undress and say good-bye to your four year old? Oh, but then again, when your four year old lays down on the floor for you to remove the clothing they are perfectly capable of removing themselves I guess you DO need additional room. Apparently you and your child require some retraining. Mom needs to retrain in what is developmentally appropriate for a four year old and little Suzie needs to retrain in pulling apart the velcro that sits atop her foot.

And please, little Timmy do NOT ask me, as you have for the past fifty-two Mondays, if you can have hotdogs for lunch. We did not have hotdogs on Friday, or Thursday or the day before that so stop freaking asking me for mystery meat logs. I am not your mommy and regardless of how many times you ask or whine lunch will not consist of bun-encased lips and assholes. Now, go back and play because I am no longer listening to you.

And retrainees.........the crying corner is STILL there. It did not disappear over the weekend. In fact, it is sort of pivotal to the structure of my home so simply trust in its ever present existence. And yes, if you continue to whine and resist retraining you will become reacquainted with that corner the better part of Monday.

Oh, and one more thing; what the hell did you eat over the weekend? Because the consistency of the crap that fills your diaper and the nostrils of everyone in a five mile radius is more than I can handle. I see no undigested peas, or corn or beans like I do when you eat here all week. Now all I see is liquid mush that could easily challenge the odor rating of most manure lagoons of the Midwestern United Sates. You are disgusting.


Mondays......who needs them?





For concerns, advice or suggestions I welcome your email at judytrickett@yahoo.ca