I woke up earlier than usual on Sunday morning because it is our tradition to have waffles for breakfast on Valentine's Day (and because I am the opposite of an expert waffle maker and so I knew I needed extra time). Shortly after I started the coffee machine and fed the dog I heard the pitter patter of the little boy (becoming big boy) feet coming down the hall.
"Hi, Mom" he said to me.
Before I could tell him it was too early to be up and that he should lay down for a little while longer he continued, "I needed to get up early to write a Valentine for my brothers. I made one for you and Dad and Stella but I need to make one for Hutton and Nolan. Think it is okay if I make them one together?"
And seriously, how can I send a child back to bed when he is up for the sole purpose of writing a nice note to his brothers? I couldn't. I didn't.
We had our waffles and headed to church and had intended to come home for lunch; but when we got home and realized we had accidentally frozen the lunch meat we were planning to eat we packed everyone back up and went to our favorite little cafe down the road for sandwiches and burgers. That night we had our traditional seafood alfredo and cake for dessert. It was really a normal little Sunday except that we spent it surrounded by construction paper hearts taped to every wall, string and red clippings strewn on the floor, and notes of love from sibling to sibling, which made it the best kind of normal little Sunday.