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Saturday mornings

January 15, 2011

It’s a rainy Saturday morning. The house smells like drip-brewed coffee and hot-from-the-oven biscuits. Little boy is wearing mismatched pajamas and little girl is nestled snug as a bug in her older brother’s blue bouncer. The livingroom has been frantically attacked by armies of plastic, oversized Legos, wooden blocks and a needy 60 lb. dog curled up like a hot cinnamon roll on a semi-clear spot of carpet. The dryer whirrls and clinks as one, lone hooded sweatshirt knocks it’s zipper against the metal in a rhythmic clink, clank, clink, clank. The hubby cheers for the college basketball game on TV. The coffee maker beeps with satisfaction at creating a fresh pot of java. And I stand content amidst it all in “carefree timelessness” – a phrase used by Matthew Kelly in his book, Rhythm of Life (great book!), when referring to the childlike state of simply enjoying the moment without the ruling of a clock. Yes, it’s a good day.

A little cream, a little sugar, and a warm coffee cup rested perfectly in my palm.

I like plopping a pad of butter inside the hot, flaky layers and then closing the lid – knowing that minutes later it will have melted into the perfect pool of buttery goodness.

There’s a certain love between a boy and his dog that is hard to replicate. It’s heartwarming to see a large, spastic lab turn into a gentle puppy with her little master.

The never-ending chore.

Saturday mornings are a special part of the weekend. Full of anticipation, relaxation and the simple thought that whatever “needs” to be done can be put off until later. For now, we play.

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