Sunday morning is my favorite. I vaguely remember, about a decade ago, I made a Livejournal entry about how much I loved Sunday mornings. I described how every Sunday morning, I'd wake up to my mom singing and ruining all of the lyrics. And how my family would go together to Catholic Mass, and then we'd go to Cerritos and eat some DJ Bibingkahan or Pinoy-Pinay. Those are still some fond memories I hold. And then I became Christian, and those memories remained as they were: memories from the past, never again to happen in the future. But now, as a married woman, I love Sunday mornings still, if not more. I wake up to an empty bed, because Kevin wakes up earlier than me. And I go downstairs and he's up and talking with my brother-in-law Michael, making omelettes. Michael's omelettes are always so pretty and fluffy, with yummy vegetables and other fancy-shmancy stuff in it. Kevin's omelettes usually look like they went through a car crash, with hot dogs and spam ...