When I was 10 years old, my idea of a perfect Sunday was morning cartoons, playing outside and riding my bike until dinner and after a bath, curling up with my jammies on to watch The Wonderful World Of Disney. That was more than 40 years ago and my definition of a perfect Sunday has changed over and over again. Having said that Jim and I never take a perfect Sunday day for granted and always recognize and appreciate it for what it is.
The day we drove the Aerostar up to a grassy valley near Antelope Lake for a picnic with the boys.
Picking out a Christmas tree with the Hardaways in the hills above our house in Susanville. Four feet of snow, Nathaniel on my hip, lost Christian, picked out a crappy tree and yet...a perfect day.
Discovering Michael Paulo at a free concert in Elk Grove Park while enjoying a great bottle of wine on a blanket my guys and Sandy.
Carving pumpkins, watching football and then Sunday dinner.
Did I mention Max was born on a Sunday?
Brunch with Christian and Gina at Scott's on the River, discussing their wedding plans over mimosas and feeling the excitement of a new future for them.
And so it was last Sunday. After morning coffee in the spa and breakfast, we were off to sit Max while the kids grabbed alone time. Our day was filled with play and drool, babble and strollers and more play. As Max fell asleep I held him close knowing that even next Sunday, he would be different.
Jim and I have shared 1,517 Sundays. And that night as we lay there together ending another one, we had the same thought: What a perfect day...again