Nothing Should be Rushed on Sunday

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I don’t know why it’s taken me the best part of four decades to figure this one out, but this morning I had an epiphany of sorts.

I woke up.  The weather was gorgeous!  The kids were downstairs, television blaring and by the sounds of rattling bowls, being fed.  My favourite part.  The field outside my window had grass the colour of the ocean blowing in the wind and I could hear fledglings in the chimney.   I felt rested and ready to face the day.  The tummy bug had finally left the building having come back twice to take another bite of two apples.  Bastard thing.

Did I say the weather was gorgeous?  I decided there and then I was going for a run.  My first in over a week. 

As if she could read my mind, our Juno dog appeared at the bedroom door.  Or rather, her nose did.  I called her name and she came in.  Her wet, cold nose touched my hand in greeting.  She sniffed my runners and I swung my legs out of bed.

I dressed quickly and arranged to meet Mister Husband and the kids in town and I set off with the dog.

It was glorious.  I felt totally and utterly at peace with the world and with myself.  We weren’t the only ones on the road, Juno and I.  Plenty of cyclists, walkers and people with dogs passed us.

I took it nice and handy as I had fallen foul of the tummy bug as well.  The Sunday Business Show was being broadcast in my ears and every time I felt my pace quicken I slowed it down.   Nothing should be rushed on a Sunday.

Juno heard the car before I did and we both turned on the roundabout to see our red Citroen C8 pass with windows wound down and four sets of waving kids’ arms sticking out the windows.

Five minutes later I joined my menfolk in the café for coffee and croissants.

A couple of hours later we were in a shopping centre where I picked up the last of the copybooks for next year.  Yes, you read that right.  A few weeks ago I made a decision not to be left with school supplies at the last minute and now I am finished with the school books for next year. 

I wandered into Boots where I picked up one or two fripperies for myself.  There is something so deliciously pleasing about picking up a bottle of body lotion and an item of make-up that you don’t actually need, but want.

We all need nice things.  Nice things are good for the soul.  A wise lady named Claire once told me subconsciously you don’t consider yourself important, good or worthy enough if you don’t treat yourself every now and again.

Life is fast and we all need to take it slowly on occasion; slow down our thought process and actions.

Today was the day I chose to do that.

Nothing should be rushed on Sundays.

And guess what?  I still got everything done.  The lunches made, the washing hung out, a tear sewed (badly) in a red school jumper, lunch supplies picked up and right now I am enjoying a cold glass of wine.

Because nothing should be rushed on Sundays.