Saturday mornings are beautiful around here. One weekend a month I work a Friday overnight so am walking in the door at 7a exhausted and ready to fall into bed. The house is still quiet and dark and more then likely, all three of my loves are in my bed together. Neither Grant or I have the heart to put the babes back in bed when the other isn't there and their sweet little selves come in during the night. So I take a quick shower and toss my dirty scrubs into the laundry basket and crawl into the warm love pile just beginning to stir under the blankets. We chat for a few minutes as my eyes get heavy and Grant takes the babes downstairs for breakfast. He takes them on adventures while I sleep and join them later in the afternoon.
But the other Saturdays are different. Beautifully typically different. My family didn't have a television when I was growing up, and so the Saturday morning cartoon fest didn't happen for us. I heard the other kids at school talking about Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Jem and Smurfs and pretended I knew what they were talking about. My mother also avoided the sugar cereal aisle, so I didn't have Lucky Charms or Frosted Flakes unless I was at a friends house, or once a year on my birthday. I love the memories of the ways my mother made ordinary things special, although I certainly didn't appreciate it during middle school.
Grown up Saturday breakfast for Mamas
We do it differently around here. Saturday mornings are for cartoons and pajamas and cereal in the living room. And Purslane and Knox LOVE it. Grant usually gets a few extra minutes to sleep while I bring the babes downstairs and make coffee. We laze around for quite a bit until we have properly Saturday morning-ed the weekend. It is the stuff that the cartoons in the Sunday paper are made of.