Came home and sorted laundry, ignoring the bathroom and my husband equally. Made the beds, didn't change the clock and wondered how Sunday EVER became known as a day of rest?
Daddy fed the children chips for lunch and as I was washing up at the kitchen sink, the pipe underneath burst. Cursing, I looked skyward: "Seriously? Is this IT? Is this how it's supposed to be?"
And then, in frustration - desperation? - I shoved a bucket under the tap, scooped up the Reds and tossed us all out the door:
Watching them run off their cabin fever and splash through puddles wearing their Sunday coats, I laughed out loud and finally, relaxed.
"No, my child," I could almost hear Him say. "This is how it's supposed to be."