Wanted: a month of Sundays
The right kind, with clean sheets. The ones with the cat walking across the newspaper while you are trying to read the book reviews.
And it’s just rained, so the air is transparent and fresh. You can wear your shiny, knee-hi rubber boots without appearing mentally ill, and the puddles quake with your impending splash.
The chores are done and the fridge is full, so you can walk, just walk, instead of buying milk and eggs.
There is already a plan for dinner, and everyone is old enough—but not too old—to feed themselves.