Sunday is like breathing

Sunday morning I sleep in and snuggle with Gatsby.  He totally gets Sunday. Sunday is the day when the alarm goes off early, but no one moves for at least an hour.  Sunday is the day where I'm still home in the daylight.  Gatsby loves Sunday mornings.  

This morning was enhanced by a delicious pumpkin protein muffin from my new girl-crush, CleanEating Chelsey.  Then, it was further enhanced by a kick ass yoga class (yes, I taught; yes, it was kick ass if I do say so myself!).  There's something about the energy of that Sunday morning class--I love it.  Today there were 36 yogis in the house, ranging in age from teenage to retired and everywhere in between.  Body styles of all types, athletic ability of all levels.  Sunday morning yoga is the great equalizer.  

The afternoon is the bottom of the exhale. Sometimes I nap, sometimes I grade, sometimes I prep my food for the week.  Sometimes I do all of that.  Gatsby lays on his blanket and chews on  bone, basking in the amazingness that is Sunday.
Sunday nights are the inhale.  The laundry is done and put away, meals are prepped for the week (mostly), and I head to my favorite spin class.  When I get home, it's the final countdown, the big breath in, to get me ready and energized for Monday morning and the rat race ahead.