As of late, I have been loving Sunday nights.
They’ve been following the same pattern for a few months, and the type A in me loves it.
Sunday nights mean comfort, and warmth, and family, and communication.
I love Fridays and Saturdays and the memories they bring – fun and friends and busy and irregular. But Sunday evenings are something special.
As we prepare for the week ahead, we clean and meal plan and grocery shop. (Not exactly my favorite things.)
But at 5pm, the cork comes out and the music comes on. We put a new record on the player, pour some wine and start cooking dinner together. Husband grilling steaks. Me prepping veggies and salad. Puppy moving from one of us to the other, dying to be in the middle of all the action. We talk about the week behind and the week ahead and the things we’re looking forward to.
After dinner, we catch up on our shared TV shows or watch an 80s movie from our list, then turn in early to read and rest up for the week.
Even as we’ve been traveling a lot lately, we’ve been home by midday Sunday and able to keep our cherished tradition. Or as I’ve been returning from work trips, Husband has meal-prepped ahead of time with wine ready so we can just enjoy each other after time apart.
It’s perfectly boring, perfectly an old married couple evening, and I’m perfectly content with it.