Wednesdays

Every Wednesday -- rain or shine -- the boys and I pile into the van and transport our recycling from our tiny kitchen pantry to the city's transfer station. Isaac used to request to do this several times per week, but now it's only on his schedule once per week. Wednesday. Every Wednesday. 

Isaac loves it all: sorting the recycling into groups, loading it into the van, and watching as it slides down the chutes at the recycling center. 

This morning he woke up and said, "Recycling back!" I told him he needed to go to school, and then he would come home, and then we'd take back recycling. "Yes," he said. (Great! We are on the same page.) 

Before he got on the school bus this morning, he hauled out the recycling into our hallway. He wants me to remember it's Wednesday. With boxes and office papers and plastic and newspapers and tin cans in my way all day, how can I forget?

I typically put the pile away and get it out again before he gets off the bus. If he sees that I have moved the recycling back to the pantry, he gets upset. If it's all in the hallway when he comes home, even if it's been slightly rearranged, he's happy. Easy enough. 

Today I don't feel like moving everything. After all, I don't want to forget that it's Wednesday.