The Way Sunday Was Meant to Be

I woke up Sunday morning and didn't go to work like I usually do. We all slept in a little bit. Ada came and snuggled in the bed. We sipped our coffee rather than taking big tongue-burning gulps between morning tasks designed to get us out the door. Ada chose to shower with me. The sun was shining outside so I dressed her in a spring-y dress and stripped tights.


We dyed Easter eggs this morning, old friends and new friends. Lovely.





I'll turn in my letter of resignation this week, a day that I have been dreaming of for years now. My last day at this job will be 7 weeks from now. As that day gets closer - the one where the heavy metal door slams with finality behind me and my keys and swipe card are left behind on what used to be my desk - I feel like I am slowly waking up. Slowly coming alive.

Mostly, I'm totally excited to have more than just one day a week to hang out with my husband and child. It may not sound like a big deal, but one day a week as a family? It's been a real drag. One day to pass off the responsibility so that you can carve a wee bit of time for yourself. One day to do all of the visiting we want to do. One day to plan things, do things. It's not left much time for fun. Working every Sunday has been one of the main reasons I can hardly wait to be done with my job. I miss my family and I am missing important time with my family.

Last night Tim yells, "Hey!! Come take a picture of us!" Ada was singing If You're Happy and You Know It and clapping her hands madly.

More leisurely Sundays will be coming my way soon: soccer practice, grocery runs, newspapers being read, an extra pot of coffee being brewed, toasted bagels with extra orange marmalade...all just because you can. Remembering back to 3 years ago when I had Sundays off, I think this is the way they were meant to be.