easy like a Sunday afternoon.

The real phrase is “easy like a Sunday morning,” but Sunday mornings are anything but easy in our home. My husband has a position in our church that requires him to be in meetings before church, and to sit at the front of the chapel instead of with our family in the pews. He usually makes our traditional Sunday morning waffles, and then heads out before the rest of us wake up. I then get the children and myself ready for church, which might include showers for the boys if they didn’t get done the night before and hopefully a nap for the baby. We are almost always late, the lateness varying weekly, and I am usually quite flustered. Then we head to church where I often wonder why I even try. The main sermon part of the meeting is filled with chasing the baby in the foyer and trying not to let her scream disturb the rest of the congregation. I send looks of helplessness to my husband, trying to throw in a smile or two for good measure. I know he’d rather be with us, taking his turn with the baby and keeping the boys in check.

After the Sunday School portion (where I patrol the children’s classroom hallway and check in with those classes), we head home and make a pot of Annie’s macaroni and cheese for lunch. The baby naps. Eventually Daddy comes home, and we breathe a collective sigh of relief. On this particular day, baby girl just wanted to be outside, so we took a break together and played before dinner preparations. This is easy like a Sunday afternoon.