a warm hand, a crackling fire and some poopy

Tonight, we pulled the futon out in front of the fireplace. Ted's laying next to me as I finish up some work on the computer, his hand is gentley rubbing my back as his mind grazes over the Plains history book de jour. Then there's that fire, it cracks, pops and breaths. It consumes the air and leaves as warm gifts these delightful sounds in which the simple act of enjoyment must be wired into our DNA. Just as I let myself wander into my most fanciful fire induced memories, Maddy comes pitter pattering down the stairs eager to go poopy on the potty. And poopy she went. Now off to sleep with her, and back to the fire I go. Night night.