On Saturday morning, I woke up to nothing but the dog's ass facing me as he perched proudly atop Chris' pillow. Generally, I'm the first awake or awakened only moments after Chris and/or Snoop get up.
It's a Mom thing- the family stirs, the captain takes the helm.
After a continuation of our back-breaking but really awesome pace and busyness, I slept in until almost 8:00. If you, too, suffer from an extreme need to find reasons to create (and win) competitions with yourself over how many items on a To Do list you can pack into a 24 hour period, then you understand that 8:00am is the clock-watchers equivalent of DEATH.
I shuffled into the living room to find Chris snoozing peacefully on the couch. Nothing new- no, not new at all. There he laid, his hat tipped back and to the right, just the way it always does when he has dozed off. The TV was blaring- again, nothing new- but this time, oh THIS TIME, you guys, there on the screen was Ina Garten. The Barefoot Contessa herself.
There he was, unsuspectingly asleep and dreaming of simple recipes and quality ingredients. My infiltration was complete. No one in the world could be more meant for me.
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