Usually I am not a big fan of Sundays. Something about Sunday has always rubbed me wrong. The day drags, chaos reigns, and I tend toward a sense of restlessness. When Sunday evening comes, I breathe a sigh of relief. This feeling has only grown in recent years as our weekends have devolved into periods of unstructured tension - kids needing attention, adults needing relaxation or to get something done, everyone with not enough to do and yet not really wanting to do anything.

Last night, though, I realized I had had a very nice Sunday. So nice that it was a most unSunday of Sundays. I slept in, which was heavenly. Dex had bacon and eggs ready when I came downstairs (and before you say “awww, how sweet”, be aware that I do the same for him 51 Sundays of the year) (still, it was nice). Edward and I cleaned his bedroom over the course of several hours, a job long neglected. Davey and the girls played outside, then the girls went down for a nap with little fuss. Eddie’s friends came over to play (very unusual for a weekend). I worked a little on a painting I’ve been wanting to start for months. Edward helped me make the homemade, gluten-free pizza for dinner. The younger kids had baths, then bed. Dex and I got some time to watch a tv show and enjoy some grown-up time.

Nothing spectacular happened, but everything just seemed to click. We hummed along, moving through the day as a family. It felt good. If only all Sundays could be more like that.