Sundays are my favorite day of each week and my least favorite day. First, they are great because we have had all day Saturday to rest, recuperate from the week and just do what makes us happy. For instance, college football. College football, sleeping in, laundry and the house smelling like something warm and savory coming from the oven. That’s what Saturdays are for me. Sundays are different. Sundays are sacred. They are The Lord’s day. They are a new beginning to the new week. They are a new chance at being positive. They are a reason to smile and be thankful. My Sundays generally look the same these days. We go to church, we have lunch and we take a nap. After that, the possibilities are endless (well, as far as my 15 month old is concerned). We enjoy playing outside. We take a stroll around the yard in our wagon. We slide down our fun, plastic slide. We visit with the horses. Lately, our favorite thing to do is play in the watering trough.
Some of you may think it’s disgusting to let your baby play in the water that horses drink from. I say, it’s just my son being a boy. I will not apologize.
We usually come inside before the sun goes down. We finish the laundry and as the last load is drying, we sit picnic style on the kitchen floor. Together we enjoy a meal and I listen to him as he babbles on. He is perfect. I could not imagine a better date.
Sundays are also the worst day of the week. If my husband has been home for the weekend, it’s the day he packs everything back into his bag. It’s the day we take a long time getting out of the bed. Every inch of sunlight that sneaks through the blinds brings us minutes closer to the inevitable fate that awaits us.
When I was pregnant, I could not hold my tears in, I would bawl as he pulled out of the driveway. I have learned to be much stronger. Today, after daddy left, we went to church. We went to lunch. We came home and Cooper took a nap. That’s when I quietly cried. While my baby slept away his long morning, I sat on our bed. I closed my eyes and opened them. When I opened them, his face was right there. It was right where it had been hours before. I could see the curves of his face and feel the heat of his breath. I closed my eyes again. This time, he was gone and streams of heat rolled down my face.
Sundays are special days. I live for them and sometimes dread them at the same time. I pray for strength and thank God for letting me wake up to see another one.