apartment therapy changing the world, one room at a time

Ha! Mine involves sunglasses, a slightly chilly morning, thick nubbly socks and coffee on the deck so that you can see the steam rising in circles from my cup of joe.

Wake up to sun streaming through the windows, husband hands me steaming cup of coffee, watch recorded shows I didn't have time to watch during the week, dog and two cats join us on the bed, local bagelry delivers lox-and-cream cheese sandwiches.

Actually, that's often my Sunday morning reality.

Sunday Morning Fantasy:
The kids let us sleep late, we eat a late breakfast in our backyard, read newspapers, listen to music and play with the kids. Grandparents will come later in the morning and take the kids to the theatre or to the park. We will have some quality time just for the two of us :-)

Dermot Mulroney enters our bedroom carrying a tray of fresh coffee in bowls and buttery croissants, and whispers to me, "eat, Kissy Face (his pet name for me), you know how I HATE skinny girls." We do rock-paper-scissors to decide who gets the magazine section of the NY Times. This Sunday there's the special Design Issue! And one of our homes (we have 3) is featured. In the Arts Section there's a review of Derm's latest film, and the Times RAVES about his performance. I'm sooo proud of him! We shower, get dressed, and go for a drive along the water in our adorable vintage Fiat 500. Stop for lunch in a little crab shack, and get home in time to catch all my favorite cooking and decorating shows on TV. While Derm reads a new script, I prepare him his favorite dinner.

Mine involves waking up in the morning sunshine with the cats and my husband, who's still sleepy, hair in his baby blue eyes, day old scruff on his face. I make us some french toast, homemade jam and coffee, then we either head outdoors for some fun in the sun or stay in and watch cheesy 80's movies. We may cap off the day with a nice bottle of red and some juicy BBQ on the back patio with friends.

I'm awakened by a knock on the door - and my smiling Indonesian steward says "Good Morning" as he enters my suite with a large tray holding silver pots of Hot Tea, a bottle of chilled Champagne and glasses of fruit juices, a bowl of cut fruit, a basket of Fresh Croissants and Muffins and plates of hot meats and cold cheeses on Rosenthal China with sterling flatware and starched linens.

As I climb from beneath my cozy duvet and put on my white spa bathrobe and slippers, he sets the tray down on the table in the sitting area where my tuxedo from the night before is lying (He'll take it away to be cleaned before he leaves) and draws open the curtains to my large private verandah where I can see another in a long succession of beautiful and unique sunny islands in the South Pacific. After a leisurely breakfast chatting on the verandah with my friends, this is where we will be spending the day before reboard the ship and depart at dusk for the next island on our itinerary.

My fantasy is actually my reality. I admit it, I am insane, OCD insane about cleaning. With most of my weekday devoted to working I really look forward to a thorough and intense session of cleaning. Though I'm currently moving so this weekend is all about furniture shopping and arranging the new space! Then cleaning. Those Ikea boxes leave a lot of dust and particles of styrofoam behind :-)

I wake up to my husband, Peter Sarsgaard, staring deeply at me. After taking a long luxurious (not steaming hot, because my landlord fixed it) shower together, we prepare breakfast while listening to Fresh Air - french breakfast cheese and freshly baked and toasted onion bread from the market.

We cuddle with my little one (the cat) while we listen to my downstairs neighbors fight.

After a quick lunch we bike along the marine, stop by my favorite bar and drink margaritas until late.

We have a fabulous romp in the sack before going to sleep.

YAY!

mine wouldn't even start until late Sunday afternoon because, for once, I would be able to sleep in.

Birdablaze, my Sunday is eerily similar to yours! (Mr. Sarsgaard, cat, Fresh Air, etc.)

I'll also add that we spend mid-morning lounging on the front porch of our Maine home, him tossing down his latest script to help me rehearse for my highly-anticipated reading that night (I've just won the Yale Younger Poets Prize in my dreamy Sunday scenario.)

My reading goes smoothly, he looks on proudly from the audience and we host an after-hours soirée at our rustic/MCM house with fine Scotch and friends.

Naturally, we spend all Monday in bed.

I also wake up in Ione Skye's bedroom, with Ione Skye next to me in bed.

I like the picture of your 'actual Sunday', Grace. Cleaning is meditative and being with your puppies enlivens your heart... sounds lovely to me... maybe after a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice and a sourdough cheese roll from the bakery... delivered warm.

The Sunday Morning Fantasy in which I have a dog, a house, and a book contract...
I awake rested and ache-free. There is just enough light coming in through my east-facing windows to wake me gently. I shrug into my favorite, battered grey sweater, make myself a pot of tea, and cut up some seasonal berries. I share a bit of cream evenly between the berries and the tea and take the whole mess to my second-story porch. A dog follows (the sort varies).

Here, I shall watch day come to the new-leafed trees and Victorian beauties around me. Doggy keeps my toes from getting chilled in the spring air. Once my breakfast has been consumed, I do a little editing on my manuscript while finishing up the tea.
Feeling thus accomplished, I will walk the dog and do whatever the day presents.

mine: Wake up impossibly early, like 6:30 or 7, totally refreshed, regardless of what I did the night before. Make my self breakfast, get the paper and read it in my light filled living room, with my cats cuddling at my side, rather than sitting on my shoulders, trying to snatch food out of my mouth.

I then get dressed and head to the farmers market - which isn't crowded or heart attack inducing hot, get everything I need plus gorgeous flowers for the week. I come home, cook a fabulous brunch/ lunch and casually call my mom, sisters and my bestie over for a girl's lunch of breakfst booze and whatever I picked up at the market.

So far, the only thing that happens about that is that I wake up impossibly early.

grace - my vaccuum is always that grossly filled too! Stupid fur!

Whoops, wrong fantasy ;)

I've had this Sunday Morning fantasy for a while, I just didn't know there was a term for it...

My husband and I sleep in late (but not too late) and throw on whatever effortlessly adorable clothes are hung up neatly in our closet. We head out with our snugglebunny of a dog, which we don't have, and walk to a neighborhood cafe, which doesn't exist. We sit on the sidewalk where the puppy can lazily doze and read The New York Times while we eat delicious but surprisingly healthy brunches. Mine's granola with fresh fruit. His is a veggie omelet. Since we are regulars there, the owners don't mind if we stay for hours, and then we go home and nap.

I'd drink my french press coffee and read the whole Sunday paper--not just a couple of sections. And instead of racing off to start washing the sheets and cleaning the house I'd smile smugly because everything would already be done. I'd add Clive Owen (or someone like him) too but I'm trying to keep it simple. ;-)

bepsf ~ you need this "Good Morning, Sir" alarm clock (!):

http://voco.uk.com/

I so want one of those clocks! Brilliant!

I love this topic. My boyfriend and I started out long-distance the first year, and we both had Sunday morning fantasies. Loved talking about our future life together. Lots of lazing around in bed, sex, reading, sunlight. He's just about to move in with me, so I eagerly await our summer Sundays and see what they're like in reality.

i'm back in Vancouver, in all it's grey misty coziness. Sleep in, then hand-knit wool socks, cozy sweater, and a cup of hot espresso on the patio (which is full of green and growing things) while i wake up.
Walk down to a cafe for brunch with a friend, read the globe&mail together and debate politics. Window shop and go home to listen to the Vinyl Cafe on CBC.

mmmm....Sunday morning reality is as close as i can get to this, every week.

At this point in life, any fantasy would be better than me waking up at 7:30am (if I don't get up earlier, I seem to have some internal clock that goes off then) and starting then to get the kitchen cleaned up before I host the family dinner every other week and trying to clean up after my fiance since wherever it lands, it stays to him.

JoJenks --

I love it!
:-)

It's a cool summer day (in the low 70's) and I (as usual) hit the flea market where I score a set of hand carved antique netsuke at a ridiculously low price, being sold by someone who doesn't know what they have and doesn't care when I bravely and honestly try to tell them.

Then I grab a croissant with marmelade and real butter and a latte and the calories do NOT count!

Wonderful subject.

I wake up next to a still sleeping 32 year old robert redford/steve mcqueen/equally gorgeous blonde haired boy with beautiful teeth and white cotton boxers/tee combo.
Pull on my trainers and go for a three mile run (this will take me 40 minutes), return with the Times, fresh orange juice/ baked goods and strawberry jam which I love.

I get into the shower (the boy tries to stop me because he is too busy trying to kiss me), so I scold him to make coffee which he does after helping me get my (running) kit off, whilst I shower and change into a starchy white shirt (his work one) and small white panties (beacuse strangely when I woke up my thighs were an inch slimmer each).

We sit eating breakfast at my glass dining table, then I finish my coffee whilst sitting on the boys' lap whilst he surreptitiously peels clothing off trying to kiss me more. I give in and he carries me back to bed for more kissing.

Then I get up and do some baking and make the boy roast dinner (this makes him kiss me even more), and we watch 'how to marry a millionaire'.

Then I remember we have the next day booked off work. wicked.

I wake up late after a night at the opera to the sound of my husband making tea (real husband, fantasy habit) and brings in the breakfast tray, shirtless. This particular morning it's kao shan tea ('high mountain;' the closest you can get in the English-speaking world is Tazo's China Green Tips) and Japanese pancakes sandwiched with red bean paste. He gets back in bed and pulls out a book on WWII aircraft, of the sort he typically reads but with an immensely better-looking cover, antiquish.

I sit up in my gauzy neglegee (sheer cotton, froufy), pull up a clipboard with a few sheets of parchment, and write poetry with a fountain pen and scented ink. The words flow out seamlessly and my handwriting is impeccable. The cats lounge around the foot of the bed, miraculously not trying to eat the pancakes.

Whytephoenix, you are a legend. I fantasise about my handwriting being wicked everyday. Respect.