Sunday Morning Love

I’m in bed, slept in.  I can hear Charlie Brown blasting on the TV in the living room.  I know what’s happening.  Ax is watching his show while eating chocolate chip waffles his dad made.  It’s Sunday and that’s what happens on Sunday morning at our house.

Mike is probably reading a book about how to save the world or how to live forever by eating only blueberries and flax seeds.  And I’m here, in bed, pleasure blogging, before I emerge as mommy/wife/persona du jour in the world.

In here it’s easy to remember I’m just none of that and all of that, neutral, a breathing body that gets another day to live. That the outside stuff is not as solid as it seems. That I’m just a love sponge doing what I can to feel safe and at ease, most of the time.

And that I don’t need to work so hard to feel safe and at ease. In fact, the working hard at that may be having the opposite effect.

So I’m going to breathe. And breathe again, before launching into action.

It’s Sunday. I can be as I am and be safe, loved, and at ease. Even with the TV too loud and the house a mess and my back hurting and holiday madness abounding and and and. I can take a micro-step back from that noise and remember how grateful I am to have a home, to have a family, to have this life, as it is, to be me, as I am. Perfect and flawed. I’m gonna keep going.

Thank you.

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