By: Tosha Woronov
I love my dog’s big black nose. It should be a refrigerator magnet.
I love when a day in August starts out cloudy. We can play outside then, until almost noon, when the marine layer burns off and we must retreat to air-conditioning.
I love San Francisco. I wish I’d found myself there in my early 20’s, before starting my real life.
I love reading a book, or a blog, when the writing is so good I almost hate the writer. I love later sharing that string of words with my husband.
I love waking at night, in the middle of a deep sleep, when my brain acknowledges to me: “ah, this is a good sleep.” And then I go back under.
I love when my son runs back to give me an extra kiss. In front of everyone.
I love when my husband tells me a story from his past that I hadn’t heard. We’ve known each other a long time, and there are still discoveries to be made.
I love when a stranger in a store or a nearby table tells me how beautiful my son is. People can be so kind.
I love when my husband insists that I have a margarita, and I obey. He knows what’s up.
I love animals, all of them. My day is made right by seeing a fat puppy at a sidewalk cafe, a bunny in our yard, elephant seals on the beach.
I love listening to my son count his piggy-bank money. I love that at 5, he is smart enough to count it all by himself, but because he is 5, he starts all over with each new penny found.
I love that Leo decided on his own to call us “mama” and “dada”. It evolved from “mommy” and “daddy” and sounds even sweeter.
I love the perfect breakfast spot. Like The Griddle in West Hollywood or Katy’s Place in Carmel-By-the-Sea.
I love hotels, as do my boys. No dishes to clean, no laundry to fold, only the requirement to watch my son jump on the bed.
I love the tuna melt at the Artisan Cheese Gallery in Studio City, which is Italian tuna, olive oil, artichokes, capers, gouda. Unexpected and unreal.
I love taking the time to think of things I love. It doesn’t happen often enough.
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Originally published on The Seattle Lesbian
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