Breakfast in our home usually consists of a bowl of cheerios, some yogurt, or toast with peanut butter washed down with a glass of O.J., a cup of coffee, or a serving of milk. On really awesome days, we might have a package of instant oatmeal or toss in some granola with the yogurt. Then it is out the door and off to work, the gym, or daycare. Monday through Friday maintains this same basic pattern and it works to get us all out the door on time usually with a smile and kiss to boot! Saturday mornings are a slightly more drawn out version of this same pattern, but the meals remain the same: yogurt, O.J., cereal, and milk. But not on Sundays. Sundays are a different animal entirely. Sundays are when we indulge our taste buds in the seasonal bounty that mommy (that's me) and mother nature team up to create. Scones, muffins, scrambled eggs, pancakes, waffles, quiches, frittatas, cinnamon rolls, yogurt parfaits, overnight oats, porridge, fried egg sandwiches, breakfast sandwiches, poached eggs on avocado toast, bagel buffets, smoked salmon, mimosas, and coffee (not all on one day!). I prep whatever I can the night before from chopping to assembling. In the morning, I wake up with or just before the sun, grab a cup of coffee and pick up where I left off before bed - more chopping, firing up the oven, prepping the grill, and making space for the spread (how did the toy truck get on the stove top and where on earth did this chalk come from?). Before the chaotic fun of cooking and talking and football, I curl up with my coffee and a magazine soaking up the silence that only comes on early Sunday mornings. It doesn't matter how early I get up the other 6 days of the week, the quiet is never as peaceful as it is just after sunrise on Sunday mornings; even the birds' songs are more relaxed as if they are conserving their energy and prepping for the upcoming week. About the time I pour the second cup of coffee, I can usually hear the hubby stirring in the bedroom and padding down the hall towards the kitchen. We're not big on conversation first thing in the morning (if we utter "morning" pre-coffee that earns a gold star) and I'm not big on TV noise at that time either, so he'll curl up on the sofa with his phone or a book waiting for CBS Sunday Morning. After that, we flip over to football and music for the rest of the day. It is the one day of the week when cartoons, TV shows, and movies are not allowed. A few minutes later, the hubby pops into the kitchen to offer his assistance. Chopping, mixing, blending, and grilling are his specialties. Just as I am get into a rhythm, the little man decides to rouse from his sleep demanding at least 30 minutes of cuddle time and a big glass of milk. The hubby and I take turns holding our bundle of love - we'll take the cuddle, besos, and hugs as long as we can get them. As soon as he's old enough, he'll be cracking eggs, stirring dough, and licking spoons. When the oven dings, in go the scones or muffins or quiche. Scrambled eggs and pancakes are almost ready for the stove. And the sausage is sizzling. If I had any sense of smell whatsoever, I would probably notice the beautiful aromas filling the kitchen and spilling into the family room. Everything gets laid out on the table as it is ready and breakfast is served. While we normally consume our morning meal by 7am, Sundays are timed more for a brunch - 9 or 10am. Obviously, this is pushing the hunger wall so to stave off grumpy kids and difficult husbands, snacks are provided. Bowls of fruit or a basket of muffins tie the hungry family over until everything is done. On days when there are more than 4 of us, we forgo the formal sit-down, opting for more of the grazing mentality - eat as it's ready, sit where you can, have fun. We encourage friends and family to stop by for a drink, a snack, or the whole meal. Bring a friend and your swimsuit (on warm days) and hang out. On Sunday mornings, we always have enough for at least 1 more.