Tuesday

I seem locked in a mortal battle with Tuesday. Though I always win in the end, knock wood and good genes, the work week's second round always seems on the verge of outlasting me, smug when I check the calendar or clock and react with a half-defeated, half-agitated, "Still!?!" So to remind myself that life is for living and that it all counts, whether it's the weekend or some red-letter day or not, three small victories from the annals of Tuesday, November 10:

• Finding the words to help my daughter find her way from sobbing mess to a smiling, "I feel a lot more confident now."
• Making it to the Y at 8:45 p.m. Making excuses takes far more energy.
• Refusing to accept, "I don't get it. I can't," and creating the space, at least for ten minutes, for the kid to focus and listen and learn.
  

Six months from now I'll likely be unable to pick out this 24-hour period out of a line-up of fall semester school days. From even that distance, Tuesday was Tuesday was Tuesday, indistinguishable except that they aren't. Each matters, and if one doesn't, well, that's on me. Life is for living, seven days a week, not enduring or wishing away.