Every morning, I set the alarm at least 20 minutes earlier than I actually have to get up. I do it on purpose. That early morning time, in the shadows of the bedroom, snuggled under the covers, is something I treasure and look forward to.
I hit snooze, tuck back in, and my husband wraps me up tight in his arms. It’s peaceful, safe, happy. Often, I find myself dozing back off, because I am so comfy and content.
This morning, I hit snooze again…then again. I was chilly, so I tugged the quilt up to my chin, cozied back up to my husband’s chest, and thoroughly enjoyed the tranquil, soothing moment before the alarm went off one last time, and it was time to reluctantly climb out of bed.
Most days, I simply adjust, shift gears and dive into work once I get to the office. Today…nope. Stubbornly, petulantly, like a toddler stomping her foot during a tantrum, all I have wanted to do is go back home, to the peace and love and happiness that my husband and I share there.
He has told me more than once that he loves our house, but what makes it a home is me. I love that. It’s the greatest compliment I think I have ever received.
Today, that is all I want, and nothing else can take its place: I want to be with him. I want to be at home. And I can’t get back there soon enough.
Sweat & Sparkle 