
When the alarm went off this morning, I was nowhere near ready to get out of bed yet. I was comfy, cozy, content, snuggled up in my husband’s arms. I smacked the snooze button about half a dozen more times than I should have, just for the luxurious delight of rolling back over, tucking in close to him again a little bit longer.
I have a co-worker who regales me with dramatic tales of the men in her life. It’s entertaining for sure, but I get tired just listening to her! I have to laugh, because I hear her talk about fancy dinners, huge parties, jealousy issues, arguments, expensive trips, and I know she would think my idea of a perfect evening is boring as hell.
I am happiest just being at home with my husband, no grand plans, simply enjoying each other and talking and laughing. An occasional weekend trip is fun, but we are both always happy to get back home. It makes sense, because we have built our home together over many years, and it’s our sanctuary and peaceful place.
Speaking of that, I am eyeing the clock as I type, because it’s nearing quitting time at work. The weekend is promising to be a rainy one, and that is perfectly fine with me. I won’t turn down a drizzly, peaceful morning, sleeping in, no alarm clock, no particular place to be, the whole day waiting just for the two of us.




