I have not been feeling well for the past few days, primarily because I’ve been fighting a cold, and then just the usual confluence of hormones and the fried foods I’d had last Friday.

(Crab Rangoon. And some egg rolls. They were good but Lord. Talk about an energy suck.)

I woke up this morning at 4:30 to go hit the gym – I’d scheduled 40 minutes on the stairmill and 20 on the treadmill. But no way. My body was not cooperating and so the gym was out. I was tired, and resigned, but cranky. By 6 I staggered downstairs, feeling even sicker than I had when I woke up, and then was promptly greeted by my husband and his usual morning hug.

I don’t know if it’s been my recent efforts to get a little more centered again, or that I was too tired and sick to continue the energy that comes from being steadfast for staying in a detached, self-absorbed mood, but for the first time in a long time, I went ahead and let him hug me.

I mean really just hug me.

I spend a lot of time insisting that I know the best path for myself but generally I’m an idiot. I can’t tell you how many mornings have probably gone by, how many times Scott has hugged me, and I missed it.

When we talk about the work of marriage, this is what we talk about. And when we talk about the little things of marriage falling by the wayside, this is what we talk about.

Instantly I let myself melt into his chest and smile. Hug back hard. I didn’t feel perfect, but I did feel restored. And lucky.