Tonight I made dinner. 

I realize this is neither extraordinary or newsworthy. I didn’t make anything complicated. Just homemade calzones. Strawberry (and blueberry and blackberry) shortcake. Garlic breadsticks. Simple stuff. 

But I put it together. We were all home to be able to sit down together at the table and eat. 

And I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time. What is it about preparing food for others that makes it so heartwarming and satisfying? It feels like a gift, an extension of one’s heart. 

Makes it so easy to go to bed and feel…full. In every sense.