I wake up later than usual on sundays, but then again doesn't everyone? The usual pre-up-and-at-it rituals of stretching till it hurts, rubbing my eyes till my vision is even more blurred, and fighting back that massive urge to just go back to sleep are done. I look at the almost colorless lighting in the room, knowing there is a greyness outside to match; another one of those dreaded rainy sundays as my companion again.

I've had my morning coffee, stronger than usual to kick my butt into gear. It fails. I'm lethargic and even worse, I'm still feeling tired. Around me are my 5 kids, playing and fighting, fighting and playing, even play fighting. I wouldn't exchange their insane character driven behavior for anything in the world. I love them!
Beside me is the woman who they call mommy. She's beautiful. The only real beauty I can see. It's actually hard to look at her for very long without feeling insecure and sad that she should have to endure this, OR any other rainy sunday. She smiles at me and I look away with guilt that I'm the only man who gets that smile as a daily gift.
As the day's chores are done, and the darkness of evening rolls over us at 5 p.m., I am at a loss for words. With the radiance of my children's banter, and my wife's complete beautific aura, I've made it through another Sunday in the rain...
Tomorrow's weather? Does it even matter?