Sunday

It’s Sunday, and the pancakes are filling my belly.

I make kick ass pancakes, so you know. I really do. It’s a simple food, but so easy to screw up. And nothing in them please, just plain, maybe buttermilk, with honey maple syrup. The girls love them.

Ros hovers around with a diaper full of stank, bouncing near me yelling “bum!” and then running away. The smell lingers, much as it always does. I don’t know where this comes from, this vile stench from such a small thing. But comes it does.

Vivian reads her Teen Titans comic, telling me who everyone is. This morning she asked me,

“Do you want to come to outer space with me Mommy?”

Of course I do honey bear. I hope she goes to space some day.

Sundays are meditative, at least before everyone else is awake. We sit, we eat, we revel in the silence of a morning, the enforced quiet that causes us to pause. These are days I will miss years from now, sitting together, everyone finding something to do, something still. Sundays cause me to imagine who my daughters will be, the kind of people they will grow into, what they will mean to others. I dream sometimes that they will change the world.

Lord knows they’ve changed mine.

*Good news for anyone waiting for something in the mail from me. It looks like I’ll actually make it to the post office today!