On Sunday mornings, the Riouxs believe in putting their feet up. There's no need to rush. Pajamas can be left on. Breakfast can be leisurely. Scrabble can be played and the rules are strictly optional.
E is a master at naming his letters. His favourites are X and Z, the high scorers. Between bites of toast, he baffles his parents with newfangled arrangements that have yet to make an appearance in the Oxford English Dictionary. It's true what they say; language is always expanding.
J is becoming a master at the soft boiled egg, though he'd never admit it. The only secret to getting it right is forgetting how much it matters if you don't. J puts the kettle on for tea, remembering when she used to pour two cups of Fantastico to get their morning started. That was before the move to Sidney, where options for freshly roasted coffee are as weak as Folgers. J takes his tea black, but she likes hers with Almond milk and honey. Some things don't change.
These are golden mornings.
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