It has been raining off and on all day and I have been writing for a couple of hours.
Typing this, I am sitting on my bed, which was made, but I have tucked myself under the covers and am propped against some pillows. Books, 3×5 cards for taking notes, papers and pencils are scattered across the comforter. Jack is sleeping on the floor beside me. The taste of peppermint lingers from a cup of tea I just drank. The children are happily, quietly and appropriately occupied. The house is neat and cozy and Paul should be home soon.
If there was something for dinner I might mistake this for heaven, instead of just a taste of it here on earth.
I wish that filled the stomach.
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