a sunday ritual

I've recently started re-reading "The Little House on the Prairie" series, and I am amazed at how much Laura Ingalls Wilder remembered the little details--how they churned the butter or made maple syrup or built a house with their bare hands. It's such a window into another era. Although we have vastly different lives from the life they lived, and there are certainly aspects of their rules that can't apply to our current way of living, I really appreciate how grateful this family was. The children received simple gifts come Christmas time--a cake with white sugar or a new tin cup were things to celebrate. They took nothing for granted. Children were also expected to be an active, participating part of the family. There's a part in one of the books when Laura recalls which activities fell on the different days of the week. It's lovely that they had such an ingrained sense of rhythm.

We have our own days of the week up on the fridge, and I can't say I stick to it with anything resembling regularity yet, with the exception of Sunday. Sunday is pancake day. It is a day that flows at a mellow pace. It is a day of cuddling with the cats, and leisurely walks. It is family day, when we gather with aunts and uncles and grandparents to share dinner and conversation. I love that Julie has this day to look forward to--that it is already so much a part of her little being. "I'm going to eat pancakes!" she squeals as soon as we say our Good Mornings.We put on our matching aprons and mix and pour and eagerly await our stack of piping hot pancakes. We set the table nicely, and sing a little song of gratitude. We appreciate our food and each other. Sundays are something to love.