Just another Monday

It's 6:30. Light has yet to peak through the blinds in my bedroom. My alarm is ringing and my wife starts to stir next to me.  Another 10 minutes maybe...."Wake up Josh, get the kids up and ready."  My heart sinks to my stomach, and I realize..it's Monday. I hate, Mondays.

"Wake up baby girl. It's time for school." Another 10 minutes maybe... "Up and dressed let's go!" They scramble from the bed to the kitchen table. Breakfast. Check. Dressed. Check. Teeth brushed. Check. Coats, hats, gloves, shoes. Check. "Ready Daddy!" My heart sinks further. It's time to go.

We start our journey, hot cup of coffee in hand. "Can you turn it up Daddy?" Katy Perry is on the radio. She loves Katy Perry. As if Monday's weren't bad enough. My mind wanders as we make the trek through the back roads of northwest Iowa. The kids are singing and dancing in the backseat, while I struggle through the first scalding hot sips of gas station coffee. My chest feels tight. It's hard to smile this morning. Hard to breathe. More coffee.

"Park over there Daddy!"  I hear the recess bell ring as we get out of the car. She struggles with her backpack and races towards the front doors. He grabs my hand and tries to move me along. I look around and notice all of the other parents dropping their children off at school. I wonder if they hate Mondays as much as I do. I wonder how many of them, have the same sickening feeling in their stomach as I do. The second bell rings. She puts her stuff in her locker and starts gabbing with her friends. I stand across the hall, listening to the anticipation in her voice, so excited to start another week. She turns to run into the room. As I grab my son's hand and turn to leave, I hear her voice. "Daddy!"  I turn around and run right into the waiting arms of the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. "I love you Daddy. I'll miss you."  She disappears into the classroom, skipping the entire way. One down. One to go. More coffee.

Back in the car, Bruno Mars is rattling the change in the cup holder. My son sings along and moves his head to the beat. I pull into the driveway. Get out of the car Josh, I think to myself.  It's time. He grabs my hand and leads me up the steps to the door. We're greeted by the sound of kid's laughing and music playing. Hat. Check. Gloves. Check. Coat. Check. I feel his tiny arms wrap around my legs. "I love you Daddy. See you later." "Love you Buddy. Be good."

Back in the car. Silence. The radio is off. There's no singing. No dancing. No backseat driving. I sit in the driveway, finish the last of my coffee, and stare around the car at the empty seats. 7 days. 7 days before the next Monday. 7 days before I have to make the journey through northwest Iowa. 7 days, before I have to feel the sting of letting go again. Sunglasses. Check. Seat belt. Check. Coffee.  I'm out of coffee. I hate, Mondays.