Everyone is snuggled soundly in their own beds. And I can't get over how good it feels to say that. Our OWN BEDS. Not to say that by morning a couple of sleepy eyed, bed headed littles won't be pretzeled into the big bed. But, oh how I've missed my bed, the pillow-topped haven that's learned to hug and hold our bodies perfectly tucked between crisp, clean sheets. And the icing on the already it-feels-good-to-be-here cake... the welcoming scents of the best Christmas-y oils being diffused throughout the house upon my arrival.
There really is no place like home.
That beautiful mantra carried us from one side of the great divide to the other. And as flights were delayed and changed, and ultimately taking a full day of travel down to just a few hours separating the west coast from our beloved almost east coast home, I was heel-clickin' it all the way.
Even now, as I thumb type my way through this post on my iPhone after realizing my laptop is also snuggly tucked away, sleeping in my mom's carry-on bag, at her house, I can still hear the echo of that mantra and I'm nodding in agreement. The sound of the white noise from the fan, the rhythmic breaths in-out, in-out of the man I love sleeping next to me, the tucking, and re-tucking in of little legs under the big comforter, the forehead kisses... This is home. And baby, am I glad to be here.