One of the most delicious things about this time of year is being inside a cozy, fire warmed house on a snowy morning. Last night after the kids went to bed I took a shower. Late at night, when all is quiet is my time, the moment where I finally get to sit and read, or watch useless television (Golden Girls, anyone), or browse endlessly online. I think I like this time of night because I can waste it any way I want, there isn’t anything I have to do. Kids have a way of always needing something or other constantly throughout the day, so that after they go to bed I come back to myself, that inner person that has to put herself second (or tenth?) throughout the day and now she can do something herself.
Fast forward to ten o’clock at night. You’ve showered, slathered yourself in delicious body butter that smells like vanilla and apricots and slipped into a fresh out of the dryer, oversized white tee. I love the days that I’ve washed my bedding, where soft flannels sheets and warm, pale pink ruffled quilts create a haven for snuggling deep inside with a book. I have this thing, where if I wash my bedding I have to hop in with everything else fresh and clean, too. Me, my pajamas, everything. The whole thing feels fresh and new, crisp and clean and perfect for long winter nights. Then, when you wake up in the morning in a shade darkened room, nothing feels yummier than knowing you are warm and clean and your tee shirt has that perfect sleep rumpled-ness for a day at home in sweatpants. The storm rages on outside, but in this moment, laying in bed on a winter morning, all is right.