Sunday Mornings

I love Sunday mornings. I don't know why exactly, but I do.

Usually I wake up to the sound of my husband making coffee (it can be quite loud) and, if school is in session, my teenager slamming the door and pounding down the porch steps to go meet the bus (he's not angry, he's just like that). As I stagger into the kitchen, my darling husband presents me with coffee, made just the way he likes it (milk with lots of sugar). And I drink it, gratefully as I start breakfast. Then he gets the little one changed and dressed and plops him in the high chair and we all have breakfast together before he goes to work. And I wish he didn't have to go. Then it's just me and my Sunshine till Jet gets home from school. Mr Rabbit gets home from work just in time to give Sunshine a bath and read him a bedtime story. That is, assuming he doesn't have a gig or a rehearsal.

Sundays are completely different and I like them so much better. On Sunday mornings my teenage son and husband go to work at 6am and return at noon. So my very small son and I wake up at our usual time to a silent, empty house. We lay in our respective beds for a few minutes calling out to each other. He says "Mumine!" I say "Sunshine!" he says "Hi" I say "Good morning!" he says "A baga ble nama mumum da ba goo fa bade bum" I say "Oh really?" and then sometime he says "NiNi" and goes back to sleep for a half hour or so, and so do I. Or he says "Down?" and I come get him.

Eventually we get out of bed, I change him and we head to the kitchen. The coffee is made, it just needs to be reheated. I plop him in his high chair with an appetizer of Cheerios and a cup of milk and then I prepare my coffee just the way I like it (Soy milk, no sugar) and proceed to scramble us some eggs which we eat together. After this, I shove all the kitchen furniture into one corner so he has a big wooden floor to roll his balls on while I undergo the Sunday morning cleaning ritual. I strip his high chair of its cover, collect all the hand towels and stray dish cloths I can find and wash them, take all the small appliances off the counters and wash them and clean out the fridge. This inspires me to cook something.

When Jet and Mr Rabbit come home a little after noon, I have some lunch started and some sort of meat ready for the old man to grill (or he picks some up on the way home).  I hate it when he grills. He disappears from the house and spends hours out back communing with his grill and his beer and returns with some poor charred animal that would have tasted so much better broiled, baked, roasted, stir fried or even steamed. Meanwhile, the rest of us have already eaten all the sides and salads I've prepared to go with it because we were hungry and couldn't wait the requisite 3 or more hours.Grilling is my husband's Sunday entertainment. It has nothing to do with feeding us. But I don't complain because it could be worse and he cleans up after himself and he always eats my baking disasters with a smile.

Sunday morning bliss, has come to an end.

After lunch, I'm off to work. I will be home in time for dinner and to get my Sunshine ready for his daddy to put him to bed.