Monday Not-So-Fun-Day

Monday comes around far too quickly for my liking. Our weekend was packed full of fun things to do. Fireworks to watch, sparklers to hold and family to see. Mummy’s been busy decorating the hall in a bid to disguise those little drawings you did when you were feeling impulsive. Your calmer when your home. It’s what I love the most about weekends. No post school meltdowns. Not quite so tired and agitated. A pleasure to be around.

Monday is back and don’t we usually know so! You rise with the morning sun a ticking time bomb. You threw a wobbler this morning because you wanted biscuits for breakfast and mummy said you couldn’t. The colour changing spoon I gave you with your cereal helped to change your mind. It fascinated you. The spoon went in your mouth. “Look Mummy! GREEN!” The spoon went into the milk “Look Mummy! Red!”
You wanted to wear your new blue welly boots, just like you did all weekend whether it had rained or not, you got cross when I told you black shoes for school. You laid on the mat by the front door and refused to move in protest! I told you your teacher would be sad that you weren’t at school and they would close the gates with out you. It was the only thing I knew would work.

We use visual aids at home as often as we can, we have a ‘KIND BODY’ poster by your spot on the sofa in the living room. It shows you hands are for waving and clapping, not hitting. Feet are for walking, running and jumping, not kicking.  We also have our traffic light system by the front door, inspired by a fellow mummy at school. The traffic light system is great, it helps you to understand that we need to leave for school in a good frame of mind. It helps your older brother understand the things we need to do in order to achieve that good frame of mind. This didn’t work for us today. Mondays don’t really work for us.

Nonetheless were out the door and off to school, dinosaurs in hand (and pockets). The crisp cold air is enough to restore peace. We chatted, laughed and joked the majority of the way. We reached the lollipop man at his crossing and you spotted he was wearing a navy blue poppy wrist band. You have the same one and this sent you into meltdown. “The lollipop man has mine!” you cry for the last stretch to school. I did my best to explain yours is at home. Riley was singing ‘What’s that coming over the hill, is it a monsterrrrr? is it a monsteeerrrrr?’ on repeat. It was too noisy and it hurt your ears. You tried to make him stop but he just wasn’t listening.

I waved Riley into his class and took you to the office to meet your favourite morning 1:1. We squeezed through the parents in the office to see a familiar but different face to the one you were expecting. She opened the door with a hesitant smile. It was a though she’d already anticipated your reaction to her being there. You took one look at her and said “Where is my Mrs.H!!” She explained she wasn’t here today and you head butted the glass door. We told you not to do that because you would hurt your head. But would it? Did you do it to stop the hurt already bubbling away inside your head. I followed you into school, to comfort you and encourage you to go with your 1:1 for the morning.

Do you know what I did today? I thought about you. I pondered frequently throughout the day, wondering how you are, what mood you are in, how you are coping. I pictured the look on your teachers face this morning. Did she hurt a little seeing your reaction like I did? Did she take it personally? Monday comes more sudden to you than it does for me. If there were a way to help you better adapt, I’d do whatever took in a heartbeat.

Home time comes around just as quickly and were together again.

We spend the rest of the evening calm, back to familiar, back to routine.

When the day comes to an end, I snuggle you into bed and kiss you goodnight.

I curl up on the sofa with a cup of tea and a blanket.

I say goodnight to Monday knowing tomorrow will be better.






About the Author

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Mum of three young boys. Sharing our family journey to an Autism and ADHD diagnosis.



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