I have a love/hate relationship with Sunday nights.
I love them for what they are: completely relaxing. routine. comfort. the sound of a scratching pen, turning page, sigh... as Husband grades papers on the couch. the warm, smokey scent of a cracking fire. a cold beer in my hand and the warmth of a good meal in my stomach. the sleepy hazy tingle of a slight buzz spreading through my veins. a good book. a soft chair. a fuzzy blanket. my favorite sweatshirt (stolen from Husband 5 years ago and never returned). playoff football and the usual whateverelse on tv. an hour long phonecall with my Mommy. the clink-clink-clink of clothes tumbling in the dryer. tap-tap-tap-tap of fingers on the keyboard. a warm kitten snuggling in for a nap.
all these small things that I love... will be gone as soon as the week begins. and that's what I hate about Sunday nights: they lead to Monday mornings.