Describe your Sundays as a mother/father or as a child

(on today’s slip of paper drawn from the jar)

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When our kids were growing up, we lived in Florida a couple of different times, having moved there for jobs.

While living there we would go to the beach every Sunday.

Sunday mornings were spent loading up the car with the necessities for a day at the beach:

Towels, chairs, suntan lotion, books to read, camera, flip flops, Sunday newspaper, snorkel, flippers, mask, PBJ sandwiches, pretzels, cold drinks, cooler.

The day was spent soaking up the sun, napping to the sound of the waves, watching the boats go by, the planes with their ads, kites flying overhead.  After a day at the beach we would be covered in sand and salt and pina-colada-smelling suntan lotion, then we would load the car up once again and head back home.

On the way home we would always stop by and get a pizza to go, take it home and watch that new cartoon show on Sunday nights – the Simpsons.

Florida was a nice place to visit, but we never really called it home, and always just acted like tourists or at least short-timers, as we knew our home in the mountains was waiting on us whenever dad would finish up the job he was on.