Sunday.

I love Sundays.

So much.

Especially after very, very long weeks.

I have spent hours sitting atop a dryer

(our apartment is very tiny)

typing the hours away.

And many nights telling myself to not look at the clock.

A common phrase in our apartment:

"This too shall pass."

And, my dear friends, it has passed.

And it's Sunday.

And the sun is out.

Sunday will always come, 

just like Spring will always come.

The snow melts and before I know it,

I'm stopping to smell Easter Lilies at the grocery store.

Here's a peek at last Sunday:

My Canadian cousins came through Salt Lake on their way home from California. While their parents took a much needed nap, we had some quality picnic, playground and Temple Square time. I found myself giggling down the freeway as they gave me advice and windows rolled up and down, up and down in my car.

Advice on finding a Leprechaun to marry (Remember, it was St. Patrick's Day) or at least how to kiss one. And more importantly, advice on how to always be happy. 

And remember to be happy.

I asked them if they loved going to the Happiest Place on Earth, meaning Disneyland. 

And they told me the Happiest Place on Earth is actually wherever your family is. 

They've got it figured out.

And once again, 

Sundays stole my heart.