Sundays Are

Failing at the posting every day for November. I didn't write as much on my novel, either. Sunday is my big nap day. As I slowly woke from the nap, the message on the answering machine from my oldest daughter informed me she was bringing children with her, soon.
That was great because the children also brought their mother, Lori, my husband's niece. Truth be told she drove them here. So just like in the old days on Sunday afternoons, we visited. It seemed so much later than the actual time, because of the time change. The gray turned to black around five thirty last evening.
The forecast shows sun peeking through, but at nine thirty this morning, I see little evidence of that. Only a high of forty three degrees, too. I will walk the poor dog who hasn't had a real walk since before Sandy nudged around. We did take him for a ride on Friday.
Back to the not writing reasons. I didn't want to leave the house to write at Panera or McDonald's, or even retire to my room. I felt a strong tug to be at home with my daughters. Watching shows with them, I didn't concentrate. I guess that is what Sundays are: enjoying family, rest and relaxing.