This morning, he was laying in bed with us watching Wacky Races, and I was reminded of a morning when he was just a tiny little guy. It was a Saturday morning, and I guess he was around 8 weeks old. He had had his morning bottle, and I laid him in bed beside me. Patrick had to leave to go show houses, and so it was just the two of us. I turned on the t.v., and Andrew laid there beside me and watched the fan smiling and trying to coo for over an hour.
These are just random pictures of Andrew as a baby . . . they have nothing to do with the story.
There's nothing spectacular about this memory. It was a normal Saturday morning, but it is stands out as one of my most cherished memories. Actually, it's not just this memory that I cherish, but these Saturday mornings. Whether Andrew is 8 weeks or 4 years old, it's not about the places we go or the things we do. It's not about organized family outings, activities, or vacations (and Heaven knows I love vacations). It's about Saturday mornings watching cartoons in bed. It's about going out to breakfast in our sweats on Christmas Eve. It's about toys all over the kitchen, and not getting dressed until three in the afternoon (which I consider a luxury). It's about taking each moment at face value and not wishing it away. It's about the everyday, mundane things in life.
That's what I love about Saturday . . .
And yes, I totally stole this title from Craig Morgan's song That's What I Love About Sunday.
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