Sunday morning

11 May 2019

Ever since the Easter long weekend, I've been rethinking Sundays. Now that it's cooler, it makes less sense to jump out of bed and head to yoga or do a market run. Instead I want to sleep in, drink cups of tea, and eat breakfast in my jammies.

The other night, I was having dinner with some workmates and the conversation turned to the weekend and what we typically get up to. I loved hearing about how different our days were, and especially loved learning about weekly family rituals.

As a kid, Sunday morning meant croissants. Sometimes they came from the freezer, out of Sara Lee cardboard boxes, the foil trays slipped into the oven to warm while my dad made orange juice. When we were a little older, they were bought freshly made, with one or two kids joining my dad for an excursion to a nearby bakery. They sold croissants the size of plates - more crab-like in shape than crescent. Going to a bakery meant other pastries and desserts were on offer. My littlest brother would almost always get an apricot or apple danish, and I'd go between individual custard tarts and apple pies dusted in sugar.

Right now, I'm settling into Sundays being the only day of the week without an alarm. It's been pretty easy :) We take turns making coffee and breakfast, but usually start the day lazing around with tea and books in bed. I'm keeping my plans for the day simple too, which means more time for sitting on the couch and zoning out.

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