We've started this new tradition. (And this tradition happens each Sunday, unless there's a three day weekend upon us, in which case we move it to Monday and behave as though it's Sunday, messy hair and all.)
On Sunday afternoon, after our hot mugs of chai have been lazily emptied, and the veggies for the upcoming week have been chopped, and after we're finished with all of the getting ready, we climb into our Subaru and drive to my sister's house. We talk about the future and hold hands, always stopping to mention how nice the weekend was. We talk about the books we're reading, the weather, anything, everything, and nothing at all.
The driveway is long and full of holes, we park in the grass and three fluffy black kittens come to greet us. We walk inside with ours arms full, only to be greeted by a pile of kids clamoring for our attention. Bags are set down, hugs are given, hello's are said, and the chorus of "will you read to me?" begins.
Rounds of charades are laughed over, food is served, plates are passed, and the meal goes by too quickly. Before I know it it's time for coats, talk of the work week ahead, and one by one the bowls make their way to the floor where they are met by an impatient puppy with an overeager appetite. Hugs are shared and the evening is over. We drive home as the sun sets and say wouldn't it be nice if the weekend lasted forever.
Yes, indeed. Wouldn't it be nice.