She wrapped her arms around his neck. He murmured something in his sleep, then turned towards her and pulled her to his chest.
She stayed there, listening to his heartbeats and the windchimes, softly tinkling outside the window. Getting up can wait… it’s sunday!
“Mommy…” a voice sweeter than windchime reminded her there is no day called sunday for a mother of a three year old.
“Coming honey…” she yawned, stretched, preparing herself to get up.
“Mommeee…” the volume rose.