that was the best day

When I get excited about something, should it be a new handbag, describing a lovely meal or even remembering what it was like to lie in bed on a Sunday morning himself always sarcastically asks me, "was that the best day?!!??"
It's a term I've become accustomed to over the eight years of our relationship. My reply is always the same, I wrinkle up my nose and reply "yea yea smart ass." The reason I tell you this random information is because approximately two minutes ago, I worked out that every Monday is my best day. In terms of work anyway, and I can't work out why.....
I spend every Friday off with my daughter, usually spending money I don't have on rubbish like Egyptian cotton towels or an orange coat stand, and always always on lunch with my mum (she pays every other week, it's just worked out like that, we're not that tight). I follow my day off on Friday with another day of on Saturday, where I could be found doing anything from generally nothing (in pj's) to shopping again. But from the moment I get up on Saturday, I structure my laundry like a military operation- first load in means time to get any backed up ironing done. First load in tumble dryer, second load in washing machine...... this goes on and on, until I have three loads waiting on the tumble dryer and a bloody huge pile of ironing to do. It sits and waits until Sunday.
Sunday morning comes, usually with purple lips from the red wine, and the four large blue Ikea bags are lying there on the floor laughing at me because they know what I'm thinking...'For fxxks sake I'm back to work in the morning and I must have this ironing done before I go to bed.' So therefore I spend the last day of my weekend both doing ironing and dreading what's to come they next day. I hate it, 7pm Sunday night I'm like a raging bull, I can't leave the house, that's wasting the last of my freedom, i just want to stay in my own home while I can. It's very sad and writing it down makes me feel like I've kind of got a problem.
But then I realise it's not a problem, it's family life. Work and family life. The work and family life I craved for since I was 11 years old, when my mum and dads version of it, was quite frankly shite!
The Monday comes like it always does I defiantly walk into work, deflated that this day is here again and much to my surprise work my round little bottom off. So this begs the question, why is Monday, the day I dread so productive, the day I could face anything?
anybody?