I Love Sundays

I love Sundays. 

I love Saturdays too – they possess their own charming appeal with birthday parties and youth sports and shopping - but Sunday always brings a leisurely, relaxed rhythm that is not rivaled by any other day of the week.  Sunday often means a late morning cruise for a drive-thru latte, popsicles in the yard, bicycle rides around the block and some kind of project strewn out across our dining room table, living room floor or grassy lawn.  There is a palpable sense of laid-back ease in knowing that the day is yours and a yearning for it to stretch out as long as possible before the hustle and bustle of Monday morning makes itself known.

When my sisters and I were younger, Sundays meant early morning worship with my Papa and Nana, where we stuffed ourselves silly with donut holes in the church kitchen and endured numerous pats on the head by the elders as they commented on how much we'd grown.  After that, we'd play outside for hours - a game of hide n' seek, Simon Says, bike rides to the park or some secret adventure where we would concoct our own rules and objectives.  I remember once we constructed an "office" (made out of cardboard boxes and old sheets) in our neighbor's driveway, and we set about collecting various insects in jars and bringing them to the "office" lab to investigate and catalogue.  Whoever was able to capture a black widow spider would be the ultimate bug-catching connoisseur - even though none of us had ever actually seen one in real life other than at the city zoo.  I will also publicly admit that we tried a few bug recipes - crushing up roly polies with sugar and eating them (gross, I know).  Other times we would play school or charades, or I would spend the afternoon totally immersed in a library book - The Dollhouse Murders, Nancy Drew or Adventures in Babysitting. 

I loved Sundays, and I still love them.

Mine have changed in many ways, yet remained identical in others.  I still play outside much of the day – but with boys instead of sisters.  I still work on projects – but they involve Lego construction and train sets as opposed to paint-by-numbers and beaded bracelets.  I can often be found sifting through grains in the sandbox while I instruct B-man how to use just enough water to create the perfect sandcastle, pulling Wee-man up and down the street in his red Ryder wagon or explaining to G-man for the umpteenth time that the 2x4s in the garage cannot, unfortunately, be assembled into an operational roller coaster.  And, thanks to my husband, I am also rediscovering my affinity for bike rides, as he just bought us an adult pair so that we can pedal around the block with the boys.  Our next mission is to find some really great bike paths to explore. 

I am so thankful every day that my kids find such delight in being outdoors.  I think they would live in a tent in the backyard if I let them.  This love of nature can be learned and respected over time, but it cannot be inherently instilled – I think you are either born an outdoorsy sort or you aren’t.  You love camping or you don’t.  You crave a salty ocean or you don’t.  You would hike all day for a killer view or you won’t. 

I think many kids are born with this natural love and instinct in them, and it often gets smothered by parents who protest or fear The Great Outdoors.  Not all parents dig dirt, and I mean dig in the “it’s cool” kind of way.  I will admit, when my kids troop inside looking like they just dug a tunnel to China and back, I sometimes gasp at the filth and run to hide my good throw pillows from the clutches of their dusty palms and soil-encrusted fingernails.  But then I remember: the pillow covers can be laundered, and their bodies rinse clean in a warm, sudsy tub. 

What nature covers your soul with, however, sticks to you forever.

It’s Monday, and I miss Sunday.  But it’ll come around again, and we’ll be waiting.


~Ralph Waldo Emerson