When the kids were small, I hated Sundays. I wanted and needed Sundays to be lazy but the kids wanted to play and be entertained. The kids were loud when I wanted quiet, frenzied when I wanted calm. The difference in expectations for the day set us all up for frustration and failure and even though I knew that I needed to adjust my expectations somehow, I never seemed to be able to do it consistently.
Today, I woke before the kids and sat quietly reading and drinking coffee and realized that lazy Sundays are possible now. I'm not sure when it changed and I certainly didn't notice it happening. My daughter has spent the morning quietly doing the Rubik's cube in her room and my son woke up, showered, and made a To Do list for himself. They are doing their own things which has left Luisa and I to do ours.
Perhaps this is where I am supposed to write wistfully of those Sundays of the past and the swift passage of time and the realization that our Sundays together under this roof are numbered. I am often nostalgic as my kids get older but I do not miss those frantic Sundays at all. I'm happy those have been replaced by quiet and the luxury of completing a thought.