nightly traditions

I'm the kind of person who loves coming home and hopping right into her pajamas.  Even if it's 5 o'clock.  There's just something so cozy and comforting and relaxing about slipping into PJs.  Any stress from the day just seems to melt away.

jcrew of course

But Stefan couldn't feel more different.  For him, pajamas mean: the day is over, we're headed to bed, no more fun to be had. 

Like all sorts of things in a marriage, we've learned how to compromise.  Now when I get home, I hold off on PJs until after we've eaten dinner and washed dishes.  Then when I do slip into them (still a good while before sleeping time), he doesn't say a peep.  He just smiles as I settle back into the couch, comfy as can be.

A week or two ago, however, Stefan implemented a new nightly tradition.
"Let's go for a walk," he prompted at 8:45pm.  (I was obviously already bed-ready.)
"Like now?  Dressed like this?"
"Yes - now.  But, no - not dressed like that.  Toss on a pair of jeans - let's go!"
Incredulously, I slowly pulled on my jeans, let out a large, surly sigh, and sluggishly followed him outside.  I was not pleased.

But as we turned the first street corner - and the light evening breeze danced through my loosely-tied pony and the darkness let the moon glow in the most romantic of ways and the quietness of the neighborhood streets aroused all sorts of calm - I couldn't have felt more content. 

We walked silently for a minute or two, but then began talking about a whole host of things we never would have chatted about had we been sitting on the couch in our warm and well-lit apartment.  I was hooked.

Since then, we've walked almost every night.  I look forward to it all day and I crave as soon as we finish dinner. 
And interestingly, my pajamas stay tucked away until bed.  Stefan - you are one smart (and sneaky) husband.

xoxo
KK