Ahhhhhhh, Sunday. Here’s how Sundays generally work in our house:

Either me or The Cheerleader I Live With are woken up by a solid punch in the face by our dog, Jenn.

Oh hai. Time to get up now, please, yes.

Then, our other dog, Luna, comes slinking up to one side of the bed, and then the other for her morning butt-scratch.

Good morning mom, good morning dad… here is my butt. You may scratch it now.

Then, we kick Jenn off the bed, have a wee snuzz, then get up for coffee. One of us makes a mocha and a regular coffee with milk, and will put them both in travel mugs. Then, we take the coffees, the dogs, and each others’ hand and go for a nice, long walk through the forest, and along the river. We live in such a cool place.

Anyway, we then come home, feed the ever-starving dogs their crunchy brown stuff, then… and here’s where it gets good… one of us makes waffles. We then happily spend the next hour eating waffles and reading trivia questions and travel books aloud to one another.

We clean up, I wander over to do a blog post, and The Cheerleader I Live With goes upstairs to yell at Madden on X-Box. At least, from down here that’s what it sounds like he does.

Now we have the rest of the day to waste. Will we clean the yard? Wash the car? Go kayaking? Go buy underwear? Get groceries? Do laundry? Go to the gym? Go to yoga? Get tattooed? Play with power tools?

Who knows, who cares.

All I know is this: we will walk the dogs at least 3x more, and I will spend some time writing The Book.

I love Sundays. I hope you do, too.