I know Sunday is technically the first day of the week, but there's something about it that feels like the last day of the week. Am I the only one who thinks this way? Sunday is the day that we eat pancakes for breakfast and the day that I clean the house. It's also the day when the New York Times arrives on my doorstep, and I have visions of reading the Sunday Styles while drinking coffee on the back--or front, I'm not picky about this, but I'm probably in pajamas so back is better--porch. In this daydream the children are playing quietly together to the gentle sounds of classical music.
I think I've eluded to this dream before. I'll let you know when it comes true. In the meantime, in the spirit of reflection, here's a look back at some of the outtakes from this week. (Or rather last week.)
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