You know those mornings where it's almost unbearable to even think of leaving your house? From the moment you first open your eyes, you pray that the mere act of getting out of bed is the most Herculean task that awaits you all day. You desire nothing more than to relax, read, rest and not once open the front door.
Monday was one of those days.
And for once, the world conspired with me. My husband decided to forego his million mile bike ride and instead take a trip to Whole Foods to purchase provisions for an early supper. He bustled about the kitchen, humming and cooking...
...and whipped up some mussels meuniere, a dish at which he's becoming remarkably adept. I know I've posted about mussels before, but I just can't get enough of them. Thank goodness we were alone. My ladylike graces went straight out the window and I devoured them with the grim intensity of a sumo wrestler preparing for battle.
Peace prevailed in other areas as well. My son spent most of the afternoon with his nose stuck in a book, instead of as a blurry object racing from room to room.
I had to keep peeking my head around the kitchen door to make sure I wasn't dreaming. But there he was, motionless, enmeshed in the continuing adventures of "Bone." Ardent bibliophile that I am, I felt I could die happy knowing my passion for reading may possibly continue on in him.
Lastly, even the creatures great and small in our household behaved themselves.
Fellini, the unrepentant sensualist who has to be front and center of everything, remained front and center.
Twiglet, the cat with the personality of a skittish mouse/anxious vicar/stammering wallflower, stopped long enough to pose before rushing off to the comfort of a dark corner.
And despite my entreaties to partake of the sunshine, Percy the wonder sheep stayed indoors, although I did open the dutch door so he could get some fresh air.
