IT'S been a long night. Only four hours of uninterrupted sleep, due to teenager's crises and inconsideration. I came to bed angry last night, after having to get up innumerable times to put out fires. He takes me into his arms, in that way he has, that strong arm beneath my neck, tossing his thigh across mine horizontally until I am cradled securely into the safe place his body makes, and I snuggle gratefully into his embrace, face deep into the softness of his shoulder. And it melts away, as we sink into a dreamless sleep. I have only time to think "God, I love this man".
We are sleepy this morning, half toying with the idea of staying home, but we don't. I know the fatigue will be immensely hard on him today, and it angers me that my daughter gets up bubbly with stories of her fun last night when it has cost us so much. I want to be happy for her, but I can't this morning.
But there is the morning routine, comforting, close... blissful. We will survive.
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