Week one. I grabbed my purse as soon as the kids were out the door. A credit card, a water bottle, two trains, and bingo! Manhattan, here I come!

Confession: I don’t like to shop. I hate being targeted by aggressive salespeople. I hate making decisions, and I hate waiting in lines. But I was a good sport and arrived home with overflowing bags. The kids were going to love me. Never mind that I was exhausted.

Next Wednesday found me cowardly sitting in a dentist chair, numb, gagging over my tongue. I was actually taking care of things! Tackling appointments! Did it really matter that I wasn’t able to put anything into my mouth for the duration of the day?

The third Wednesday was Challah Day. I pulled the Bosch out. Breathed in and out. Mixed water and yeast and prayed the salt wouldn’t ruin the dough. I watched my baby rise for a full hour and a half and followed a step-by-step guide of how to braid with six strands. I’m one of those Challah Baking Dummies.

The challos came out of the oven looking overly overgrown, free form style. Unlike me, they didn’t follow rules.

And suppers! Wednesday was the day I actually got to patchke. No more sticking pans of chicken in the oven. This was the day to show off my culinary skills. My menu consisted of alfredo fettuccine, French onion soup, homemade mushroom calzones, and eggplant rollatini. No better day to put my heart and soul in my food.

Or so I thought.

But my Wonderful Wednesdays, as I’d mentally dubbed them, turned out to be weary and woeful.

It should’ve felt good; crossing things off the list, getting a head start on my Shabbos cleaning, restocking my pantry, booking appointments.

But I dreaded my Wednesdays. On Tuesday, my coworker would wish me good luck on my day off, and I was already looking forward to Thursday.

So I experimented. I bent the rules. And I’m still doing things… albeit a bit differently.

Lately, my Wednesdays consist of getting my kids off to school. Davening brachos slowly from a siddur. Buying myself an iced coffee and an in-house salad. Reading and then packing myself into my unmade bed. Supper is cut-up vegetables and pizza in the Betty Crocker — Every. Single. Week. Store-bought dough, store-bought sauce. And guess what? There are never any leftovers.

I was recently talking to my friend, telling her about my Wednesday schedule.

“Oh, so you do nothing all day?”

Nothing?!

No. No. No. I get my bearings. Recharge my batteries. A five-hour brain break. Lots and lots of Me Time. And yes, we buy bakery challos every Erev Shabbos (sorry kiddos, maybe when I’ll get Fridays off too.)

It’s a day for me.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 762)