Sunday is my best friend. It’s my only day off, and I usually spend my Sundays just chilling around the house.
Last night, both of my kids had friends sleep over. Four teenagers and two eight year olds. My house is a disaster, but my heart is full.
I love these kids. All of them.
I got out of bed to make blueberry pancakes. They were horrible. Half were burnt. Half were undercooked. But at least I tried, right? I’m no Betty Crocker.
‘These are shitty pancakes,’ My daughter’s friend told me. I probably shouldn’t have encouraged that language. But the statement was true, and I laughed so hard I had tears. Then I got some factory made frozen pancakes out and we ate them right out of the microwave.
The kids are all outside, playing in the sunshine now. I’m laying on the couch, watching “Chill with Bob Ross,” on Netflix and falling in love with his calm voice, encouraging me to create my life anyway that I want it. He says, ‘If you want a big tree, paint a big tree. If you don’t want one, don’t paint one. Let’s not make things complicated.”
I absolutely needed to hear that.
I wish every day was Sunday.