Welcome home

I pull open the door and the bell jars as it jostles against the movement. I flip the outside light to off as I make my way through the lit hallway of my parent's house. I see the fire glowing in the living room and half hope to see a yellow dog bound around the corner, or asleep in a curled ball on the corner of the couch but neither appear. I quietly set my bags at the foot of the stairs and work my way upstairs to my bedroom. It's pushing one am, the perks of commuting an hour and a half to work and having a late shift. 

The door to my room is shut, and I open it, again hoping to see a yellow dog greet me, but instead I am greeted with a blast of cold air. Gotta love a skylight's insulation in a New England night sky. I guess the boy is enjoying his first sleepover party in Nana and Grandpa's room. I try not to be disappointed. I know how much he likes hanging out with Chloe and my parents. They do have a fluffier blanket. 

I tinker with the thought of opening the door and trying to sneak him out. Realistically, I know he'll resist. Again, fluffier blanket. So I crawl into my own bed and think about how I may save my legs an evening of being bruised as a 65 pound dog walks across them. Maybe I'll even sleep in.

One thirty rolls around and I'm still awake thinking about the elections. Mom stumbles out of her room muttering something about, "Oh good she's here..." And then in leaps my boy and I get kisses, and excitement, and I give him big hugs, and snuggle up next to him so the room warms up a bit, and off to sleep I go.