Tuesdays are for sleeping in, to nurse the pain of yesterday, both real and imagined.
Tuesdays are when the hubby goes to a far flung area where he is needed. Distance, I think, has made us appreciate our time together more.
Tuesday is for washing the dishes which, I read somewhere, is good for the brain. Maybe this is the reason I’ve always liked this chore.
It is a day for a bit of flexibility.
That, sometimes, it is okay when what should have been KFC style chicken end up as something that smelled like paksiw but tasted like adobo (I should remember not to add calamansi and garlic next time).
That, sometimes, it is alright when something does not turn out exactly how I imagined it to be (this at least gives me an excuse to buy more of those fabulous pillow covers).
Tuesday is the day I snap out of my melodrama and look for happiness in the little things:
in a stack of documents from Manila that arrive just in time;
in the quiet moments of motherhood;
in a 14.5 kg bundle and his sense of wonder;
in the kind of play that makes one feel young again.
Tuesday, surprisingly, has turned out to be one fine day.