I’ve been dreaming about the new house a lot lately. Not dreaming as in “daydreaming” but really dreaming of it. At night. During REM cycles of sleep.

They are great dreams.

Its home.

We live there and it feels right.

Sometimes I hear voices down the hall. I think its kids. * smiles * I like the sound.

Great smells waft in from the kitchen.

Ryan is on the couch, watching TV and laughing to himself.

I’m reading in the chair by the window.

The dog is prancing around in the flower beds and I yell for him to get out. He looks at me innocently and runs to the back door, just aching to play.

The doorbell rings and friends arrive and for once, just once, I’m not anxious about hosting people.

I love the house and everything in it.

And then I wake up. I’m not in the house. I’m in the country rental and it’s cold and Ryan is just starting to snore beside me. I’m kind of sad that we’re not in the house, but one look at the handsome man beside me and I don’t care anymore. Because those dreams are going to become real, and I can hardly wait. It may take the next several months, and I may have several more stress attacks in the meantime, but that WILL be home and it WILL be filled with all of these wonderful scenes. I’ve got to be one of the luckiest women alive.


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