We do Sundays with our eyes closed. J gets up early to go to work and the rest of us stay in our pajamas and watch Dora. I drink as many cups of coffee and I can manage before the dogs refuse to wait for breakfast any longer. The living room becomes overrun with toys before the clock hits 7am and I don't get a shower in before J gets home for the day.
Yesterday morning was filled with fog, babies who refused to stay in bed past 6am, a certain little one plagued with two top teeth trying to come in and an insatiable urge to crawl and a grumpy (almost) two year old who smeared breakfast across his face and declared it his look for the day.
These days are short, the lights on our fake Christmas trees are always on and it takes longer for the adults to get the toys put away at the end of the day. Candles are always burning, the dogs keep their eyes closed more than they are open and a chill runs through my body just looking at the number on the thermostat hanging on the garage. I crave hot chocolate and more sleep and for that first big snowstorm to come and wipe the illusion that snow is magical and special from my mind.
Spring is a long time away and we are going to be stuck in this house for far too long but, on Sundays, it's alright.