On a Sunday

I love Sundays.  They bring back a lot of memories from my childhood.  We couldn’t play with friends on Sundays, only each other.  We played and played.  We performed songs for ourselves, we made tents on the bunk bed, we played with our dolls, and we rode each other around like horses.  I remember eating chicken a lot.  My mom would bake a whole chicken in the oven.  There was something so delicious about the skin – the perfect mixture of salt and pepper on the top.    Sundays were perfect.

Now days, Sundays look like this:

Owen woke up and told Greg it was a lovely day for some sports and they should go play tennis.

We colored Shrinky Dinks and turned them into magnets. 

I spent 2 hours by myself curled up on the couch watching shows I shouldn’t be watching.  It was the right choice, especially for a Sunday.

I am almost 100% certain the kids ate an entire box of bunny crackers. 

There was music playing, relaxing instrumental music.   (after the trashy tv went off)

There was playing, there was chaos, there was a little fighting.

There was a flag football game, there was a 2 1/2 nap (not me, Ivy)

And there was finger paint.  A lot of finger paint.

I hope my kids have good memories of Sundays like I do, well without the chicken skin of course.