Sunday mornings, my husband usually sleeps in (because he lets me sleep in on other days). The kids and I go downstairs, me sleepy-eyed and them wide-awake. We have breakfast together. We should eat at the dining room table, and we do most of the time, but sometimes Sundays are for picnics right there in the kitchen. And then we dance. We listen to Breakfast with the Beatles on the radio, and we shimmy and shake and get all our sillies out.
We also do yoga moves? I’m pretty sure that’s what that is.
My husband usually comes down at the end of our dance party/yoga session. We play and do puzzles. And read books, and pretend we’re kitties, and make forts out of pillows and blankets. The kids are playing more with each other now, instead of just next to each other, and it’s amazing to watch their little personalities and interests growing.
Tuesday mornings are all about preschool. Did we fill out the latest forms? Gather any supplies they may need for art projects that week? Friday mornings have me scrambling to finish up work from the rest of the week, in preparation for the weekend and some much anticipated time away from the computer. But Sunday mornings? Oh yeah. Sunday mornings are the best. I look forward to them all week.