And truthfully, it's not that big a deal. With traffic as bad as its been, I get home at the same time either way. The only difference is that I have to leave the house at 6:30 to catch the train, when normally I could leave a little after 7 in my car.
I know it's silly, but those 30 minutes kill me. Not because it's early (I'm a morning person) but because it's some of the best 30 minutes of my day. Dan and I get ready together, the dog shoves his face in my lap so hard he falls over and then looks up at me like I invented pizza and chew toys, and the cat curls his entire body into our tiny bathroom sink at the exact moment I decide to brush my teeth.
Dan turns on the news and we make fun of how condescending the anchors are to the morning guests, and at the last possible moment I can leave and not be late, I kiss him goodbye.
The animals follow me to the door; Jeoffrey stands on top of the fridge and Rev holds a sock in his mouth expectantly as I close the door behind me, and that's exactly how they look when I get home 11 hours later.
It's selfish, but when the life you've made at home is so perfectly true to everything you didn't know you always wanted, you can't help but want every last moment of it that you can afford.
On the upside, though, the frontrunner does cut right through the middle of my barn's trail system, so that makes for a nice morning horse fantasy. I'll take it.