Sundays

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Sundays are nice.  Sleep in a little, read the paper in bed.  The boy wakes up early to watch some cartoons, thinking he's pulling one over on us.  Get out of bed, feed the dogs, drink some coffee, eat some eggs.

I don't mind doing work on Sundays because it's my choice, my pace, and I'm in my pajamas.  Today I'm watching the water drip off the roof, listening for the next chunk of snow to fall.  Feels more like April than January.  The boy is out shoveling poo, wearing ice cleats and short sleeves.  

The sunlight points out the dog nose prints on the windows to the deck; above dog height they're relatively clear.  So that's some cleaning that can wait until April.

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