March 2023 – Sweat & Sparkle

Home

Ever since I was little, I have taken pride in my space. I must have been the easiest little kid, at least in terms of never having to be told to clean my room, tidy up, or stop being messy. (I am quite sure I gave my parents plenty of headaches in other ways to make up for it.) I remember reading home decor magazines as a teenager and decorating my room with plants and vases of flowers from the yard.

Even my college dorm room and my tiniest studio apartment, my first place all on my own, were meticulously clean and accented with plants. That studio apartment was in a horrific part of town, but everyone who visited me there commented on how cute it was. I took a lot of pride in that.

This afternoon, out of the blue, my husband texted me a picture of the front of our house, with this:

That is one of the best compliments I have ever received: “You make it a home.” We both work very hard on our home, so I can’t possibly take all the credit. My husband has fixed and built things I wouldn’t even know how to begin to tackle, and he spends as many hours sweating and laboring in the yard as I do.

But for the most part, when it comes to decorating, he steps back and turns me loose and gives me free rein. He has said that he likes watching me decorate for holidays and that no one else he has ever lived with has gotten into that, changing the fireplace mantel or dining room table or front door wreath for holidays and seasons. It’s a lot of work sometimes, especially for big holidays like Halloween (well, that’s a big holiday for us, anyway!) or Christmas, but I love it.

When I do something like proudly point out that the sparkly crystal in the candle holder in the living room matches the crystal in the dining room chandelier, he smiles, somewhat amused, because he already noticed, knowing it’s the kind of detail that I would pay attention to…then he bought beautiful candle holders for the mantel with the same matching crystal! Definitely, he’s a keeper. I knew that already, though.

I have loved transforming our house into a home. It’s our sanctuary, our peace, our small corner of the world that we have built together and share. As soon as I walk through the front door, I am happy. That’s something that no interior designer, no magazine, no shopping spree can create for you, because it has to come from your heart. Sure, that sounds pukey, but it’s true. It takes time, love, pride — a reflection of you. And our home reflects love, which makes me happiest of all.

Sleep Talking

I woke up before the alarm today, peaceful in the dim room and quiet house. My cat was tucked up close to my legs, and my husband was pressed against my back. It was nice. Cozy.

I shifted slightly to get comfortable to go back to sleep. In the dark, my husband groggily whispered, “Where did you go?”

I couldn’t tell if he was awake or talking in his sleep. I asked, “What do you mean, where did I go?”

He stretched his arm out and draped it across my hip. “I reached for you, and you weren’t there.” He still sounded half-asleep. “I was sad.”

I smiled and patted his hand. “I was right here.”

He fell silent and was soon breathing rhythmically, gently, right back to sleep. Soon I joined him, and the three of us (including my cat, practically on top of my legs) dozed until the alarm went off.

I asked him if he remembered asking where I went, and he said yeah, that I wasn’t in the bed for a while. I assured him that I hadn’t wandered off for any night-time romps or mysterious adventures in the dark, that I had been right beside him the whole time.

I was still thinking about it as I left for work, turning to lock the door behind me. I smiled. I like knowing he was reaching for me in the dark, half asleep, still wanting me close to him. I like that we are so close, even after being together over 16 years. I like being with him, sharing life with him, laughing with him, sleep-talking with him…loving him.

Monday Already?

I say it after every weekend, but it’s true: those two days simply fly by. I look forward to it all week, then it’s gone in the blink of an eye.

During the week, between work, errands, cleaning, hobbies, and just all the million things that require our attention, it seems like my husband and I barely get any time together. All week we say, “I can’t wait for the weekend!”

We can’t always sleep in, but when we can, oh, it’s such a treasured luxury. I love waking up, early morning light barely creeping around the curtains, the house peaceful and quiet, and knowing that the alarm isn’t going to rudely shriek and demand that we start the day before we are ready. Rolling over, tucking back in close to him, feeling his arm slide around me, and gently drifting back to sleep is pure heaven.

On Saturday, I felt like right after we got up, I blinked and the day was over. The day was just *poof* gone. On Sunday, I got some yard work done, then hobbled into the house to get a shower. I love how the yard is shaping up and how the house looks, but spending a few hours on outdoor projects also means the day flies right by. Before I knew it, it was dark, and another weekend was drawing to a close.

The alarm went off much too soon this morning. I hit snooze over and over again, then snuggled back up with my husband, stubbornly delaying the inevitable as long as possible.

Well, the only reasonable way to make it through a Monday at work is…to start planning next weekend, of course.