Sundays in our house begin not with peace, but with Lenny bringing his favorite toy onto the bed and Gilbert pawing me in the face. I open my eyes and immediately regret being conscious. The boys, however, are thrilled. They believe every day is about them (they’re not wrong).

☕ Tea/Iced-Coffee, or Whatever You Call Survival Juice

The first cup of tea is less “morning ritual” and more “medical intervention.” I shuffle to the kitchen like a ghost haunting her own home. I stare out the window dramatically, as if pondering the meaning of life, but really I’m just waiting for the caffeine to hit before I attempt anything requiring hand‑eye coordination.

Sometimes I read a book. Sometimes I scroll my phone. Sometimes I just stand there like a Sims character whose action queue is empty.

🧺 The Illusion of Productivity

Sunday cleaning is not real cleaning. It’s performance art.

• I fluff pillows so it looks like we don’t sit on them aggressively all week.
• I fold blankets that Gilbert has turned into abstract sculptures.
• I light a candle that claims to smell like “Enchanted Woodland Retreat” but mostly smells like books and ambition.
• I put things in little piles that my husband leaves laying around. Smaller piles makes it seem more doable.
• Also, all the laundry in the worrld gets chaotically washed – maybe folded… likely not.

This is the kind of tidying that says, “I tried,” and honestly, that’s enough.

✏️ Creative Hour (Where Chaos Meets Crayons)

This is the part of the day where I convince myself I’m a whimsical creative woodland creature. I open my notebook, stare at a blank page, and wait for inspiration to strike. Sometimes it does. Sometimes I end up reading someone else’s writing – helps clear the writer’s block.

Either way, I clap for myself like a toddler who drew a circle. Growth is growth.

🐾 The Mandatory Poodle Play

Eventually, Lenny and Gilbert stage a coup. They stand in front of me with the intensity of two creatures who believe I have forgotten their existence entirely. Play time must happen now, or the world will end.

Headgehogs, balls, cterpillars, bones, and vaarios other toys line the halls and crowd the floor.

🍲 The Evening Wind‑Down (Featuring Snacks and Denial)

As the sun sets, the house shifts into cozy mode. Lights dim. Music softens. I pretend I’m the kind of person who meal‑preps, but really I’m just stirring something and hoping it tastes good.

James and I settle in with Len & Gib, who snore like tiny lumberjacks. We watch a show, chat, or simply exist in the same room like two people who have accepted that Sunday is for rest, snacks, and ignoring the looming threat of Monday.

🌙 The Real Reason I Love Sundays

It’s the one day where the bar is on the floor and I still feel accomplished. I drank tea. I walked/played with the dogs. I lit a candle. I survived. That’s enough.