I'm listening to my precious husband on the phone with his mom. Crawford followed him upstairs and whined a few times at the closed door - he has a difficult time sharing Steve with whomever is on the other end of any call. Beeker is curled up like a ball next to me on the couch and is snoring softly. The silence from the laundry room tells me it's time to fold my clothes.
Sunday night. The sounds of this evening are cozy and comforting.
The alarm of Monday morning will come too soon.
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