Sunday, Tranquil Sunday

If there is one thing I've learned to love and appreciate as I get older, it is those quiet, subdued, Sunday mornings.  You probably know them.  I'm talking about the ones where you wake to no sound, no noise-pollution of the city.  There is no whir of the traffic on the highway, no neighbors outside mowing the lawn yet, and certainly no sirens.  Just the quiet hum of the coffee-maker and the pitter patter of pajama-clad footsteps coming down the hall, your little ones or your significant other looking for something warm to eat and for a mommy to snuggle.  No matter the weather, no matter the time of year, the entire neighborhood, town, and state that we live in seems to slow down and revel in the peacefulness of the morning.  Even the birds seem to sleep in.

In our house, Sundays are often "pajama day."  We usually take our time getting out of bed, we drink our coffee until noon, Dave and I watch sports, and Dylan gets unlimited time playing his iPad games and watching "Tom and Jerry", or "Cat and Mouse", as he calls it.  I also often take this time to catch up on cleaning and laundry, which may not sound very relaxing, but, believe me, skipping a shower, allowing my toddler  to zone out to cartoons, and getting things done in yoga pants is a lot easier than trying to buzz through a regular weekday.

I imagine most Mom's have similar weekdays like mine; filled to the brim with dishes, laundry, cooking, constructing schedules, driving to appointments, play-dates, and grocery-shopping, all the while with a toddler in tow and a gnawing instinct to continually teach, correct, and entertain your child (or children) while you complete each task.  And if you're a working mom then you have to pile all of that in with your job (How the hell you do that is a mystery to me.  And I applaud you.)

During those weekdays, no matter how hard you try, no matter how much you actually get done, you still manage to go to bed while mentally organizing the following day of tasks and chastising yourself for forgetting to make a business phone call, for not working out, or for depending too much on the iPhone or the computer to entertain your child.

And no matter how much reassurance from your husband, you can sometimes still feel more "mom", than woman.  While trying to squeeze everything in, you often skip the makeup, opt for the easy ponytail, and neglect your razor.  This is all fine and good for a couple of days, but, come mid-week, I usually find myself over-analyzing my un-tweezed eyebrows and scoffing at my hair every time I look in the mirror.  Then I beat myself up over every calorie, every carbohydrate consumed.

I think that is why Sunday mornings are so refreshing to most people.  The world suddenly moves at a snails pace, there are no business hours, no expectations, and no dress code.  You can take your time in the bathtub, allow yourself several hours to fold the mountain of laundry on the couch, and breathe easy while your children plant themselves in front of electronics.  In our house, Sundays are snuggly, guilt-free, and a much-needed break from the hustle and bustle of the weekday.  Just like Genesis, on the seventh day, He rested.

Even my music slows down.  I often opt for the sweet, mandolin-rich melodies of a quiet bluegrass band like Alison Krauss and Union Station, the honey-soaked voice of Billy Holiday, or the trance-like tunes of Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros, instead of the rowdy guitars, banjos, and drums that I prefer during the weekday.  The music change provides a nice, calming soundtrack to all of our lazy Sunday tranquility.

I even manage to feel more like a woman, more like myself on a Sunday.  Which is weird because the skipped shower and lack of makeup would usually make me feel the opposite.  I suppose it is because I actually pause long enough to find my self-worth within, rather than in the mirror.  I take time out to do things that make me feel better, like slowly sipping my coffee, or eating a delicious, indulgent meal or writing in my blog or taking a long walk with Dylan or watching a favorite movie with my husband.  I take time out to see the beauty in my family, to remind myself of all of my blessings, and to not just be thankful for them, but to actually enjoy them, really take time out to enjoy them.

On a Sunday, a stack of books is no longer that list that you beat yourself up for not having read yet.  But it is an tower of endless adventure, words woven into thick, soulful poetry, an awe-inspiring work of art.

On a Sunday, that mountain of laundry you've been dreading all week, suddenly seems like a mole-hill.  And washers and dryers seem like the most amazing things ever invented.

On a Sunday, Tom and Jerry are no longer a naughty mommy cop-out, but, rather, it is a way to induce a heart-melting giggle out of your little one.

On a Sunday, yoga pants are no longer a beauty-sacrifice or an unsexy, lazy replacement for form-fitting jeans, but they are a smooth, sultry way to show off your legs.  Every Sunday, Dave reminds me that he loves me in yoga pants.  There is only one thing better, he says.  Yoga pants with extra tuffs.

On a Sunday, beds are warmer, hugs are longer, and food tastes better.  Even Dylan seems to notice this.  You see, I think he needs a break sometimes too.  He loves time out with his Mommy and Daddy.  He loves not having to run errands just as much as I do.  And he loves to lay in our bed, with endless snacks and cartoons and cuddles.

This Sunday is no different.  And while I am still catching up on several leftover chores from mine camp, I also seem to be blissfully unaware that there is or ever will be a schedule to keep, a dress code to follow, or a crazy world that, come Monday, will return to a brisk, hurried pace.  Right now, it is just me and my blessings.  And, Lord, am I thankful.  I hope your day is similar.  Peace and love to you all on this fine, beautiful Sunday.

"Come, rest awhile, and let us idly stray
In glimmering valleys, cool and far away.

Come from the greedy mart, the troubled street,
And listen to the music, faint and sweet,

That echoes ever to a listening ear,
Unheard by those who will not pause to hear­

The wayward chimes of memory's pensive bells,
Wind-blown o'er misty hills and curtained dells.

One step aside and dewy buds unclose
The sweetness of the violet and the rose;

Song and romance still linger in the green,
Emblossomed ways by you so seldom seen,

And near at hand, would you but see them, lie
All lovely things beloved in days gone by.

You have forgotten what it is to smile
In your too busy life­come, rest awhile."

~Lucy Maud Montgomery~