I love Sundays. I love that the kids call the day “donut Sunday” and get up from bed blurry-eyed, warm and sweet smelling asking when it’s time to go get donuts. Many many Sunday mornings they go in their pajamas…..so excited to press their noses up against the glass and pick out a sprinkled one or a cinnamon twist to take home. The donut lady has fallen in love with my girls, and with each Sunday visit she loads them up with a free donut for every one that is purchased. Robert grumbles about how this can’t possibly be good for them, and they cheer with glee as we drive away from the donut shop. Olivia usually has hers eaten by the time we hit the driveway, with chocolate left circling her mouth as a dead give-away as to where we have been.
Sometimes in the car on the way home on a Thursday, or while playing on Saturday afternoon I hear Grace and Olivia talking about donut Sunday and which ones they are going to choose when Sunday finally arrives. I smile to myself, wanting to hold onto these little bits of their childhood, and how magical these small things mean to them.
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