In every house I have ever lived in, I have had a special place. A place I hide when parents yell. Or a place I seek refuge from bickering roommates. Or a place I find five minutes of alone time in a world where alone time doesn't really exist. Or now...a place I escape the mindless screaming of my three and one year old.
Oddly enough--most of those places have been closets. The walk-in closet in my old room at my parents' house. The small bathroom stall separated from the vanity in many of my BYU apartments. The broom closet at the MTC. Mya's small slanted closet in our Provo house. The pantry in our Peoria house. And now my side of the bed at our Milwaukee house.
Our bed is perfectly positioned between two rectangular windows. The windows always offer a welcomed breeze. Last night after the girls were finally in bed, I decided to remain upstairs instead of head downstairs to watch television. Night's blackness had not yet conquered the last remaining rays from the sun. I rested my head on my pillow and watched the slow moving night creep in on the large trees.
It took my breath away. It was silent and peaceful. It rejuvenated my soul for one more day. When night's heavy black layer was palpable, I turned on two of my favorite Spanish songs and drifted in and out of sleep. I waited for Tim, but he never came. He missed the magic. By the time he came, I was so relaxed and he was so tired that I couldn't find the words to describe the moment I had just had. We both fell asleep enjoying the cool breeze from that small window.
I need to find me one of those places!
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