Monday morning is a bully. She sneaks up on you quietly and quickly. She is especially cruel after a weekend filled with joy; a weekend when sweet, tender moments fill the air around you. Laying in bed watching the sun peek in through the blinds. Late breakfast. Fresh-squeezed orange juice. A bike ride to the park. Lunch in the sweet breeze of the afternoon. The better the day, the quicker it seems to just slip through the cracks in between your fingers. Crawling into bed on Sunday night, fighting to keep your eyes open to make the day last as long as possible.
And then, it’s Monday.
Rub the sleep from your eyes and watch the sun come up with a cup of tea in hand. Hold hands during breakfast to really savor your last few moments together before you both rush off to work. Back to schedules, errands, and deadlines. You don’t want to go. You don’t want to believe it’s already time to start the week anew. Can’t we have just one more day?
It’s hard. It pulls at your heart. Takes every ounce of effort to walk out to that cold car. But Monday morning, as vicious as she is, promises another weekend. A weekend that will be well anticipated and cherished because of the long, arduous work it took to get there.
Monday morning is a bully. But she’s also every bit as much a blessing.