I'm not particularly religious. I guess you could say I try to live according to the Christian tenants of "love thy neighbor" and "do onto others..." but with a bit of pagan and secular humanism thrown in. Basically, I'm winging it. It's working for me. Even at my sickest, I trusted science, not God, to make me better.
I don't have the patience or tolerance for organized religion. Really. It annoys me. I know others find peace and solace and community; I find rules and hypocrisy. But that's not the point of this blog.
Why do I love Sunday? It seems to be the day, whether by design or default, that I stay around the house. It's bacon and eggs day. It's laundry day. It's shopping day. It's catch up on homework day. It's the day I feel fully connected to being home. Work a nagging, pesky insect in the corner. I know it's there but it hasn't arrived yet to fully annoy me.
It generally has a pace and rythym that I strive for the rest of the week. Kids (and generally hubby) sleep in. Even the dog sleeps in. Sundy morning is my time. It's quiet and peaceful. I get time to myself to write, uninterrupted.
It's easy like, well Sunday morning (oh come on, you knew it was coming).
Oops, they're starting to stir. Switching to Mom mode in 3... 2...
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