That's What I Love About Sundays
Sorry about the late post......I intended to get this posted on Monday, but never got around to it. Yesterday I was pretty much busy from morning til evening (more on that later), so here it is.
Sunday was a classic Sunday. In a good way. It definitely took me back to my childhood and kinda forced me to say to myself, "This is how Sundays should be." Of course, I'm expecting a child now, so that really has nothing to do with growing up, but you get the point.
First up...Pillsbury Cinnamon Rolls for breakfast. Certainly not the most nutritious, but a quick and definitely tasty breakfast. Growing up, that was pretty much the Sunday morning staple. Yummy (I actually had a bowl of Raisin Bran to go with it, but the cinnamon rolls were the highlight).
Next, it was off to Sunday School and worship. Good service, and Leah sang in the choir for 2nd and 3rd services. After a bit of an absence, I think some of her choir-mates were happy to have her back in the soprano section.
After church, home to eat lunch. Of course, when we walked in the door, we had the wonderful aroma of a slow-cooked roast that had been on since about 11:00PM Saturday night. Mmmmm, I definitely wanted to grab a fork and get a "sample," but that wouldn't have been nice. Leah's parents and brother were come over after they got out of church, so the anticipation was horrible. Before all was said and done, we had roast, mashed potatoes, peas (cooked in the pressure cooker), and rolls. And don't forget the sweet tea. That meal was so good, it almost invokes a desire to slap one's maternal object. Oh yeah, and I had made a spice cake (w/ cream cheese frosting) with the help of Duncan Hines--that was dessert.
After everybody left, it was time. Talk about something I haven't done in a LONG time. First, let me go back to my childhood. Mom used to make us lie down for a nap just about every Sunday. Obviously, we hated it. We swore up and down that were weren't tired and didn't need it. She say something like, "Well, then just lay there fore a while and rest." Of course, most of the time we'd wake up after an hour and a half and then have to deal with that inner feeling of being wrong and admitting that mom was right. So anyway, naptime was an every Sunday deal. I've said many times that it's ironic that somewhere along the line, you make this transformation from "Please no! Don't make me take a nap!" to "Gosh, if I could just lay down and take a nap!" I couldn't tell you how long it's been since I've done that. I'm either working at Kroger, or watching football, or maybe doing something to the house, or washing the car. But I laid down around 2 or 2:15 and woke up at 5:05 (funny b/c the digital clock kinda looked like it said, "S:OS"). Unbelieveable. I had taken a 3-hour nap, and I felt refreshed. I kinda worried that the long nap might keep me from falling asleep that night, but that wasn't a problem either.
I don't really think that naps will resume their traditional hold on my house (ESPECIALLY in December when a certain infant arrives), but that one sure was nice. As much as I hate to admit it sometimes, I guess Mom was right. But as a 7- or 8-year old, I never would've believed it.
Sunday was a classic Sunday. In a good way. It definitely took me back to my childhood and kinda forced me to say to myself, "This is how Sundays should be." Of course, I'm expecting a child now, so that really has nothing to do with growing up, but you get the point.
First up...Pillsbury Cinnamon Rolls for breakfast. Certainly not the most nutritious, but a quick and definitely tasty breakfast. Growing up, that was pretty much the Sunday morning staple. Yummy (I actually had a bowl of Raisin Bran to go with it, but the cinnamon rolls were the highlight).
Next, it was off to Sunday School and worship. Good service, and Leah sang in the choir for 2nd and 3rd services. After a bit of an absence, I think some of her choir-mates were happy to have her back in the soprano section.
After church, home to eat lunch. Of course, when we walked in the door, we had the wonderful aroma of a slow-cooked roast that had been on since about 11:00PM Saturday night. Mmmmm, I definitely wanted to grab a fork and get a "sample," but that wouldn't have been nice. Leah's parents and brother were come over after they got out of church, so the anticipation was horrible. Before all was said and done, we had roast, mashed potatoes, peas (cooked in the pressure cooker), and rolls. And don't forget the sweet tea. That meal was so good, it almost invokes a desire to slap one's maternal object. Oh yeah, and I had made a spice cake (w/ cream cheese frosting) with the help of Duncan Hines--that was dessert.
After everybody left, it was time. Talk about something I haven't done in a LONG time. First, let me go back to my childhood. Mom used to make us lie down for a nap just about every Sunday. Obviously, we hated it. We swore up and down that were weren't tired and didn't need it. She say something like, "Well, then just lay there fore a while and rest." Of course, most of the time we'd wake up after an hour and a half and then have to deal with that inner feeling of being wrong and admitting that mom was right. So anyway, naptime was an every Sunday deal. I've said many times that it's ironic that somewhere along the line, you make this transformation from "Please no! Don't make me take a nap!" to "Gosh, if I could just lay down and take a nap!" I couldn't tell you how long it's been since I've done that. I'm either working at Kroger, or watching football, or maybe doing something to the house, or washing the car. But I laid down around 2 or 2:15 and woke up at 5:05 (funny b/c the digital clock kinda looked like it said, "S:OS"). Unbelieveable. I had taken a 3-hour nap, and I felt refreshed. I kinda worried that the long nap might keep me from falling asleep that night, but that wasn't a problem either.
I don't really think that naps will resume their traditional hold on my house (ESPECIALLY in December when a certain infant arrives), but that one sure was nice. As much as I hate to admit it sometimes, I guess Mom was right. But as a 7- or 8-year old, I never would've believed it.
posted by Eric C at 8:21 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home