Sunday. Started too early. Tired bleary eyes, fighting boys, through gritted teeth we get to church. Coffee works its way down into our toes. Others take the boys away and we sit at the back and write notes to each other like teenagers.

Friends have us round for lunch. The best kind of friends who love us in the normal ordinary ways of life. Friends who cook sausages and play with the boys whilst we afternoon sleepy dose. Friends who are really family. Our safe place. So grateful for their care. 

Making it through dinner, bedtime tears, tired gazing through the haze at each other. Hands touching in passing as we help our boys find sleep. Fish fingers in the oven for sandwich joy. Sunday. 

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