Sunburnt kids laying around the house, moaning and aching and standing in front of the fan, just standing and standing and hoping for relief from the fire on their skin. A husband totally burnt out on homework and too much work and sprawled on the bed in mock despair. Then someone pulled out a book of old CD's and the room was filled with melodies and beats that brought us back a few years and little arms started jabbing at the air in rhythm and the conversation turned to lyrics and religion and we just layed there, though some of us couldn't help but move to the music. And an hour later we were sighing that dinner should be made and the husband looked rejuvenated and a little lightened in the load and the kids were laughing at us and had forgotten their taut, burning skin. Sundays. They really are my favorite. Sometimes for the very same reasons each week, and sometimes for the surprises they bring.
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