B4k. That is before 4 kids Sundays were very different. After a lay in, one of us would throw a hoodie over our pj’s and stroll down to the corner shop at the end of the road for the papers. With hair scrunched in a top knot and sleepy dust in my eyes a nod at the neighbours I’d walk back up the hill with the tabloid paper naturally hidden in The Sunday Times…..

A vat of coffee was required and perhaps some toast as we’d lazily devour the papers. Reading the gossip first of course and taking stock on what the world looked like that day.

As we were so close to the city centre sometimes we’d walk in to town to meet friends. Grab a coffee or a bite to eat and catch up and what’s been happening. Or like most young couples join the thousands in B&Q staring blankly.

Conveniently, shops are open Sundays in the UK so you could have a mooch round then meet after. Easy times, everything casual never a need to rush..

Then, the two of us lived in a small townhouse a short stroll from the city centre. It was a bustling road always lots going on people around. Sunday was jobs day so car’s would be cleaned, windows cleaned you could hear the drone of vacuum cleaners. The smell of roast dinner’s being cooked in the air, the tolling of church bells.

Everything then was in our own time. Like most 20 something’s we were busy people. Rushing Monday to Friday, meeting deadlines and targets weekends were as they should be about us. Our own agenda nobody else to please..

I don’t remember appreciating that time. You just don’t. You just live in the moment never think forward about what it could be like. The last 14 years have been very different…..

One of the other small one spread like a star fish in your bed. They struggle to get up for school yet by some miracle are wide awake at some ungodly hour at weekends. I can’t tell you the times in sleep I’ve sensed someone stood over me only to find a dark figure looming “Mummy, can I have the iPad?”

Lay in’s nope I’d be sat in the dark looking like a scarecrow inhaling coffee whilst they sat glued to Peppa Pig. Spooning Weetabix which unless you didn’t know drys like concrete into awaiting bird like mouths.

As they got older there would be activities, friends ringing the door, breakfast table looking like feeding time at the zoo. The house humming with family activity and Radio 2. Constant needs, constant wants, constantly been called never a quiet moment.

By the weekend inevitably the house would look like it had been raided by the drugs squad. Every drawer open, discarded outfits, knickers on the floor. Toothpaste spat in the sink, not flushed loo’s. Between all that a roast would be cooked normally by me.

We all create our own family traditions and that’s mine. Every Sunday unless summer bbq we have a roast dinner. My husband and I have both concluded that it would be our final request for a meal should we unfortunately ever find ourselves on death row…. Kids I’m sure chicken nuggets.

Cooking the roast, a glass of vino and music on. Baths and bags ready for school. A load of washing on, kids laughing, bickering or screaming. Screaming about forgotten homework or essential critical item needed for Monday morning when all shops are already shut. Perhaps a touch of Frozen Planet…

Walking dog. Dog returning, cleaning dirty dog. Dog and cats following me around the kitchen till I give in on the mental torture of them waiting and feed them. Kids loud, oh so loud.

Can’t find dreaded friend book, need to find a spare passport size photo, forms to sign, swimming bag not ready!

So that’s our Sunday now. And although never a lazy one would I change it? Not a chance xx

What do your Sundays look now? How have they changed? Feel free to comment and thank you for reading. Enjoy your Sunday xx