Monday, Monday

I expect my Mondays to go a certain way. I get up, get dressed in my grubbiest clothes, and spend the entire day doing the family's laundry and cleaning the house top to bottom. I do not schedule appointments. I do not leave the house. I am a house cleaning hermit.

This works well for me, because then I ignore housework and laundry for the rest of the week. By ignore I mean I will pick up clutter and do the dishes, but that is it. No scrubbing for me. My family has learned to live with this system.

Parker: "Mom, I have no clean pants to wear to school."

Me: "It's Monday. You'll have clean pants when you get home."

Parker: "What will I wear today?"

Me: "Your Sunday pants."

Parker: "I'll be too embarrassed."

Me: "Then wear shorts."

Parker: "I'm cold."

Me: "You'll be fine."

McKay: "Deacon dumped an entire box of crackers on the living room floor."

Me: "Pick up the big pieces. I'll vacuum on Monday."

Chris: "Is this mud in the bathroom sink?"

Me: "Yep. McKay played in the mud, and then washed her feet in the sink."

Chris: "Were you planning on cleaning the mud out of the sink?"

Me: "Yes, I am. On Monday."

I love my system. But today my system failed me. It's nine o'clock at night. The house is a disaster. The dirty laundry is piled in front of the washing machine. All because of eighth commandment breakers.

Things were going along swimmingly this morning. I had my first load of laundry in the washing machine by 6:45 a.m. I had dressed myself in the capris that make my butt look big--perfect laundry day attire. The kids were dressed, fed. Parker's lunch was packed, and he was off to school. By 9:30 I had thrown my third load of laundry in the washing machine, and was off for a quick trip to the grocery store to cash in on my Albertson's doublers. Everything I wanted was in stock and thirty minutes later I was checking out. At this point I was kind of mentally back-patting myself. I mean, really, I was doing awesome. Three loads of laundry, groceries, and dressed children by a little after ten--that never happens. But then I went to pay, and my debit card refused to work.

I patiently explained to the cashier that I had plenty of money in my bank account, obviously her machine was broken. After several, and when I say several, I mean like twenty attempts to use my debit card, I gave up and pulled out my emergency-only credit card to pay for my groceries. I hurried home, pulled up my bank account online, and was shocked to see I only had ten dollars in it. I started scanning the transaction. Ahh, there was the problem. The $750 I spent in China this morning. What?!? Yep, I am a victim of identity theft.

By the way if you are looking for something fun to do this weekend, I would not suggest trying to resolve identity theft issues. It's not enjoyable, but it is time-consuming. And it can be done in ugly laundry day clothes with crazy laundry day hair. I definitely looked the part of a woman with only $10 to her name.

The good news: all the money should be restored to my account, and the thief was not able to access my savings account. The bad news: Monday laundry/housecleaning day was not spent doing laundry and housecleaning.

If I ever get a hold of the people responsible for draining my account, I am going to drag them back from China, lock them in my house, and make them do all my laundry. We'll see if they still want my identity after a Monday at the Davis house.