We would "sleep in" and get out of bed at 7 or 8 am. We would sit on the couch, drink a ton of coffee, and read the New York Times. That's it.
In actuality, our Sunday mornings begin at 6 am (if we are lucky), they contain an unhealthy number of episodes of Scooby Doo, and the only real news that we get comes from DJ Lance Rock explaining the pros and cons of biting your friends.
This post may sound bitter, but in actuality, I love our Sundays. I love that there are no expectations about where we should go or whether or not we should get out of our PJs. We have a morning (and usually a full day) of sloth, and we go into the week feeling refreshed.
At some point in our lives Steve and I will have that "perfect" Sunday. And the only thing I know for sure is this: even though we will have exactly what we wished for, we will look back fondly on these days and wish that we were back on the couch watching Yo Gabba Gabba and eating Cheerios.
Absolutely right! Live these days and cherish them. When you're able to sit and read the Sunday paper (The Globe in our house) it will be too quiet, the house will seem too big and there will be days you long for the sweet Sesame Street songs and the sticky tug on your robe for another pancake. Then you turn the page - see the Sox are in town and head to Fenway!! All's right with the world.
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