Dear Friday,

What the heck? Did you know today is not Monday? Monday - with its reputation for being notoriously malodorous, overcast, and unrelenting in its quest for world ickification - is a perfectly appropriate day for both boys to decide not to sleep in, stream snot out their noses incessantly, make noise during every moment they're awake, and deny me any semblance of personal space. But you, Friday? From you I expected better. Where's my 8 AM wake-up call? Where's my quiet morning's breakfast? Where's the hope that should be springing anew in my heart at the thought of the coming weekend?

You have a small window of opportunity, Friday, to win back my trust. The coming Monday is exempt from its Monday duties by virtue of being both a holiday and my baby's first birthday. I expect you, Friday, to reappear next week at the foot of my bed with a cup of chai, a bowl of lightly sweetened oatmeal, and a quiet (at least) quarter hour with Beth Moore and my Bible.

If I have to replace you, Friday, I will. Don't let me down.

Thanks, Mgmt.