As a young child, I woke up to marshmallow cereal and morning cartoons. A promise of laughter and fun with friends and family for the day ahead and possibility of ice cream trips with grandparents or sleepovers with best friends.
I lived for Saturday mornings.
As a teenager, there was nothing I wanted more than the ability to finally sleep in after a tough week of high school. To simply roll over in bed and not worry about school, boys, my hair (ugh!) made it so much easier to enjoy my morning.
I lived for Saturday mornings.
As a young adult, the only thing that actually got me out of bed before 7 am with a smile on my face was MSU football. The days full of great food, drinks, and fun cheering on my favorite team at my favorite campus with some of my favorite people, were some of the best years of my life.
I lived for Saturday mornings.
As a parent, I wake up to the little patter of feet coming down the hallway and cooing from a crib in the room next door. Quickly, my spacious bed has barely enough room for me but as we snuggle close, all four of us together, and I get a quick glance at my husband, I realize I have lived my whole life for this moment.
I live for Saturday mornings.
