I have developed a deep and abiding dislike for Tuesdays. It's the day, for the last seven years, that we put the paper together. It's a long, stressful day that for me starts around 4:30, or whenever I actually roll out of bed.
Today, it was 5 a.m., and I took advantage of MSNBC's wee-hours Olympics coverage to watch some curling. The match actually was kind of tense, with the Danish team leading until the end, when Great Britain knocked three of the Danes' stones off the board.
Anyway, I get up, have my glass of water, then some tea and either toast or cereal and start getting ready for my day. I like to get to work around 6, though it was more like 7:15 today. The papers have been pitifully small lately, thanks to the economy.
But the Tuesday process almost always dictates that I don't get to see much of my husband. Usually, I'm out the door before he's even out of bed. No hug or kiss goodbye. Typically, I walk back, kiss his forehead, tell him I love him, and head out.
But sometimes, like today, I know I have enough time before I get ready for work that I slip back into bed, tuck along behind him, snake my arm under his and cuddle up for a few more minutes. I revel in the smell of his skin, the peaceful rise and fall as he breathes, the sound he makes as I run my fingers through his hair. This morning, I loved it as he softly stroked my forearm while I rubbed his feet with my own. Then the alarm clock went off again, and it was time for him to get ready.
Just a few more minutes of that, and I think I could be invincible today.
No comments:
Post a Comment