We have a few traditions in our family, a few routines.
Some stick with us for a season or a year then fade away.
Others seem to hang on for the long run, because they are the ones we love the most.
Bedtime stories. Family prayer. And Sunday drives.
We pick a direction, or a highway, but no destination. We always bring cameras. Sometimes a snack.
Often, the kids fall asleep. But when we decide we are where we're going, everyone gets out to walk a little and explore. In the warmer months of the year we walk a lot. Maybe even follow a trail. In the winter (and on days like yesterday when our little guy who's getting over sickness was still in jammies),
we stick closer to the car.
But the beauty of the Sunday drive is that we are together and there is no rush to do anything but look at the world and wonder.
Yesterday, our drive took us up the Blackfoot river corridor to the Potomac Valley,
where there sits a little white farm house Brian and I have dreamed of living in for years.
I think we've come to realize that it's not the place for us--we've formed so many connections in the community we live in now that it truly feels like home-- but still, it's nice to drive by your once-upon-a-dreams now and then.
And then to go home together, grateful for the beautiful life we have now,
and wonder where our next Sunday drive will lead us.