Wake to children climbing all over you. Remind them that it is Sunday. Express your intention to continue sleeping. Mumble something about not being Charles Ingalls from Little House on the Prairie. Realize your kids aren’t leaving. Climb out of bed. Regret the tequila. Pretend to be headed to bathroom, but instead ninja walk to guest room. Climb into guest bed. Sleep blissfully for two more hours. Wake chuckling to self about how that trick works every time. Prepare ridiculously good omelette. Perform Jedi mind trick on wife so she thinks it’s her idea to go get the Times and the lattes. Instruct kid to put on Ponyo for other kids. Retrieve flannel blanket you’ve had since college and build a nest on couch. . . I fucking LOVE Sundays.