Remembering back on growing up, every Sunday was, well, predictable. Church, home to a tantalizing pot roast aroma wafting through the house, eat around the table as a family, nap, homework, church, home for a snack, bed. No tv during the day. No chores. Skirts to church. This was how it was for 20 years. It wasn't bad by any means. That's what was ingrained in my being and the mold that was made for me.
Then I got married.
Today I think I broke almost every Sunday mold. We didn't go to church (but went last night). I did laundry. We watched football. Ed went to the store. I wore pants to church. On some Sundays we eat downstairs. I've cleaned the basement and the kitchen. Ed's working on the car in the garage. I sanded and washed down the front door in prep for painting. He even mowed and de-leafed the lawn.
All this to say that it has been a good day. No rushing around. Taking our time. The house was filled with smells of hamburger (chicken to be exact) soup and skillet corn bread. It's been a restful day even with doing things. While I treasure the memories of growing up, I treasure the new memories being made with my family.