Sunday’s are unofficially “Whatever you look like, that’s what you look like” day in our house. We roll out of bed, throw on clothes and head out to find adventure.

We usually look a bit disheveled - with hair going every which way and sometimes (if I was lazy before going to bed) yesterday’s mascara will be smeared a bit across my eyes. But we don’t have time to waste trying to pretty ourselves when there is so much to see and do - and so off we go looking like whatever we look like.

Yesterday was a particularly fine example of this as the handsome one sported an impressive cowlick. I attempted to pull a “mama” move on him and lick my hand and try to make it lay down to no avail.

But I didn’t fuss with it long, because the rules of Sunday state that cowlicks are a perfectly acceptable hairdo when lounging in the park, sampling strawberries at the farmer’s market, or reading your book on the front steps of your house.

M