a few nights a week, the universe grants me a few moments to feel like a little girl.

overall, i haven't felt like a little girl since i was two. some days i crave the handful of seconds of childhood i savor on certain eves.

i am a big fan of making beds in the morning. it isn't something easy for me to do. i am prone to hop out of bed, get dressed, and leave the room (and its disheveled mess) abandoned. but, i can note a difference in the days that begin with a good bed-making. it is as if a tone of order is set for the hours that lay ahead. i cannot find the references at this time, but i have read, on more than one occasion and in more than one source, that bed-making leads to less stress and greater happiness.

but, can bed-making happiness outweigh my piece of happiness this post centers upon?

on days that the bed isn't made and cody and i return to clumped up, twisted sheets, blankets and comforters, i make sure to nestle in the center of the bed before my husband gets the chance. he, then, is left with the task of straightening everything. cody, bless him, chooses to do this by gripping the bottom side of a given blanket with his hands spread beyond shoulder width. he flicks his wrists, sends the blanket into the air, and lets it fall slowly.

as he prepares for the process, i sprawl myself out in the dead-center, i find a place for my head in the mass of pillows against the wall, i reach toward the edges of the mattress and tilt my chin up slightly. a breeze of nostalgia hits my skin split-seconds before the blankets descend gracefully onto my face and body.

cody smiles and walks to his side of the bed.

i sit up and thank him.

we pray together.

at this point, i'm an adult again, so i pray for adult things, and for childlike joy and wonder in the simplicity and beauty of life.