We have a routine, of a sort. (Have I told you how I love routines? Almost as much as I love traditions. Though I have almost no traditions. It's sad, and so maybe that's why I go for routines so hard. They are like the everyday version of traditions, really. And I love them. Do something once with me, and there's a good chance that those little things will be promptly promoted to the status of "a thing we do," and from there it's really just one repetition from being a comfortably established routine. Are you following any of this? Is it confirming your suspicions that I do not excel at spontaneity? Because it's true, I really do not.)
So, this routine is actually a lot like a real routine, in that we've done it many times. It's not an every week thing, because there are only so many days and all, but it's solidly in the rotation.
Sunday morning farmer's market and playground. We're so wild, right?
It looks like this: