Mike got up early this morning and left for the weekend to attend a family funeral in Mississippi. I'm staying behind to watch the dog and the laundry pile. He got up earlier than I did, and I woke BEFORE THE SUN in order to get in a work-out that will balance out the night of wine tasting I have planned. (Just FYI: This is the second consecutive day I've worked out at 5:45am. I think I deserve presents. In the form of strappy heels. In a size 8.)
I heard Mike come to bed last night and he stirred before I did this morning. When I finally got up, still half-asleep, I changed into my work-out gear and walked into the kitchen to say good-bye.
He held me for a bit, told me I looked cute all sporty and in lose-the-fat mode. Then he kissed me. The same kiss I've had a thousand times before.
I called one final good-bye to him as I walked out the door and, as an after-thought, I yelled back to Molly, "I'll be back baby girl. Mama will snuggle with you in an hour or so."
Before I pulled the door shut, I turned to see Mike scratching her ears as he toasted a bagel. He was wearing his soccer shorts and a ragged T-shirt, leaning on one leg as he always does, his hip cocked ever so slightly. I don't think he knows how often I take him in, the way I did this morning.
On the way to the gym I thought only about my sweet family.
My sweet life.