I wish it were a Sunday.

Cause that’s my fun day.

Or something like that.

Mondays means business. My son wakes knowing fully well that the weekend is over, as daddy has already left for work by the time his weary eyes open.

This is usually the day to “get shit done.” Supermarket, target, bills, bank, dry cleaner, prescriptions…

But not today.

For today I embarked on my first ever class trip. As a parent.

Some of my fondest childhood memories involve my mother going on field trips, and I wasn’t going to let this first in my child’s life just whizz by.

There’s also a trip to Washington I took in 5th grade that my uncle Martin chaperoned, but dear God that’s it’s own story.

So off I went to an apple orchard today. Before my son even exited school he was so excited I was there walked straight into a metal pole and got a black eye.

“I want to go home!”

Oh no you don’t. Unless blood is pooling into your cranium we are getting on this bus and we – I – am going.

Nurse gives the ok. Sorry kid.

With ice pack pressed firmly on face, we drive 30 minutes to pick 10 apples.

I tried to be the fun mom. A cry of “I’m bored” and I made the kids do jumping jacks.

For the kid allergic to apples, he was the manager of Apple picking.

After an hour of fall fun, back we went.

And the inevitable tears of my son, leaving him at school for the rest of the day.

But I had to go.

The cable guy was coming.

The dog didn’t poop that morning.

There were bills I needed to dispute.

This is Monday.