My exchanging Saturday mornings are fiercely unique. In one end of the week, I wake and extend my toes, hurl a major tasteful murmur and grin into the calm. On the following end of the week, I can barely wait for my fifth-grader to come look into my room so we can noisily make breakfast together in the expectations of blending her 13-year old sister. In the main, I feel remorseful for the sheer satisfaction I involvement in down time.
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