When I was Single In The City my perfect Sunday was to roll out of bed and roll into some found clothing and make my way to the local deli. I'd order my everything bagel, toasted, with a schmear, nova, tomato, onions, and capers. Sipping my hot gallon of coffee while my order was assembled with practiced precision I'd browse through the Sunday Edition of the Philadelphia Inquirer; always starting with the Comics. If the weather was good, I'd brown bag it and take my picnic to the local park and people watch. If the weather was less than good I'd stay at the deli and do the crossword. Always happy to battle with Will Shortz in pen I miss the smell of newspaper ink. Things have changed since those bagel mornings. With four kids and two dogs, it is early rising to dispense kibble and cereal. Rushing about to get people to lacrosse, Tae Kwon Do, birthday parties, supermarketing - nothing patterned or predictable, nothing very quiet or relaxing. There were those middle years; between babyhood and up to four years ago where weekend mornings involved a party of six, cuddling in one bed, prolonging the magic of the early morning hours before rushing about. Someday I will return to a nosh and a coffee and a crossword and a silence but I cannot predict it will feel the same.