that Tuesday was the longest day ever.
And it was cold.
It was the first day after our long, glorious holiday,
and my husband went back to work,
and the kid and I were cooped up.
Cooped up for the longest day ever.
It was one of those days when every one second felt like four seconds.
We must have read The Lonesome Puppy 87 times.

Tuesday was so long that my husband and I sent each other text messages like this:
Me: We miss you! [insert sad faces picture of me and baby]. Is it just me or is today going by slowly?
Him: Slowest day ever!
Me: I know! The minutes are ticking by!
Him: So sloooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwww.
Me: SSSSSSSLLLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWW.
Him: This conversation has felt like 6 hours long.
Me: SO SLOW.
Him: Well, is there anything you can do?
Me: Well, I just changed from my ripped, old Cornell sweatshirt, your old Fraternity T-shirt and pajama pants into my ripped, old Cornell sweatshirt, a tank top and yoga pants.
Him: You’re right. Slowest day ever.
And I basically fell asleep during that convo.
But, at some point, during the slowest day ever, a day when we stayed in our cozy clothes and didn’t have to leave the house or face the cold,
I got to curl up on my favorite chair with my kid,
and share a bowl of dried cranberries.

and in that moment,
when she nestled into my nook,
I was so grateful for my slow day,
and for the extra minutes I had
to enjoy the absolute best feeling in the world.
And right now, I wish that every day could be as slow
and as wonderful
as my Tuesday.