Sunday mornings....
Pajama feet padding across the plank floors making that sound they make, the one I've come to know and love. The tousled haired children running in to jump on the bed, giggling and dragging the cat in with them.
Still in pajamas at 9, the kids laying on the rug on the living room floor coloring and watching tv. Sipping on coffee and feeling so grateful in this moment.
Down the back stairs and into the kitchen, it's time to make breakfast. Milk, eggs, flour, sugar... pour sloppily into the big bowl that once belonged to my Nona. Squeals of delight peel like chimes as pancakes are tossed into the air and the hopeful pooch sitting nearby, closely watching, waiting, for the one that will undoubtedly hit the floor.
Pour another cup of coffee and empty the pot, taking it outside on the patio, where big pots of herbs grow mixed with African Violets. Settling into an Adirondack chair with the last cup of coffee and the cross word puzzle from the morning paper, I gaze at the day ahead...
YOU ARE READING
I Remember Those Sundays...
Non-FictionA memory about my country life, kids, pets and that Sunday vibe.
