Anomaly

We've been vacationing the last few days. Sort of. As in we haven't actually gone anywhere, but the hubby is off work, and we are Lying Low. Screening phone calls. Sleeping in. And not going to our church.

See, normal people can attend church when they're sort of on vacation but haven't gone anywhere. Of course, normal people actually go somewhere, but that's another discussion entirely. But for my family, all of my life, for my growing-up-family and my here-and-now-family, church=work, so on vacation you Lie Low. Maybe go to somebody else's church. Maybe have a do-it-yourself thing at home with the kids and a bible and a scattering of singing with some made-up words.

Our normal Sunday means hubby is up and out at sunrise. I'm showering. Drying my hair. Pretending to dry Elle's hair. Confiscating swords while somebody wails, "Mom! He poked out my eye! I'm blind! I'm bleeding! I'm dying!" Looking for Em's other shoe. Re-pinning Elle's hair for the fifth time. Herding everyone out to the van. Running back in to grab their church bags because they get points for bringing those bags and oh-how-I-despise-those-blasted-things. Buckling a round of car seats. Jogging back in because I realize I'm still in my house slippers. Out again with boots.

Showing up at church ten minutes late. Someone inevitably remarking on how much fun it must be getting four kids to church and aren't I a saint? Me nodding with a half-laugh but harboring zero saint-like feelings on the inside.

And then, in the afternoon, I bring them home and hub pops in for an hour or two, then U-turns on back to church till nine or ten.

And I can't wait for Monday to begin.

But.

This morning, for us, held pancakes. Small stacks of them, doused in homemade cinnamon syrup. Whipped cream. Chocolate chips. And a tableful of sticky smiles.

A Sunday unlike any other as far back as my memory can stretch.

It feels good to breathe, doesn't it? Every once in a while, so good to breathe.