on my mind: "tucked"

Sometimes, when I'm walking by myself, sitting by myself, I silently narrate my life. 
Or I jot down how I'm feeling, what I'm doing, what I'm seeing.

The other day I reread something I had written, 
"And I pull the sweater sleeves up over my fingers and rest my hands on my face."

Oh. I think. Perhaps I could have used the word 'tucked' somewhere in that soliloquy.
and then I'm off. One word rolling around in my head, the word 'tucked,' and suddenly I need to use it as much as I can:

"She tucked her hair behind her ear and felt more real than ever before."
"She wanted nothing more than to tuck her niece into bed and listen to her soft breathing in the rainy night."
"She tucked her folder into the rain-soaked bag and, after throwing up her hood, embraced the outside storm." 
"She lay in the bath, let her feet rest up on the top bar, and eventually tucked them below the surface of the water."

I look up the definition. 
To push, fold, or turn (the edges or ends of something, esp. a garment or bedclothes) so as to hide them or hold them in place.

And when I've exhausted the word in its entirety, I breathe.