I’m writing from the kitchen table this morning. I’m assuming my poor husband fell asleep over his Nutrition homework last night since he is still asleep on the couch despite the noise and movement around him. His spot in the bed was filled by our two-year-old and our Schnauzer, both snuggled in through the night. We’re all moving a bit slowly this weekend, working through what I can only call grief.

The girls and I went to a harvest potluck last night under the Hunter’s Supermoon. Adult conversation came in bits and snatches as I had to fly solo, and mine were two of the youngest littles in attendance. It was nice to connect, however brief each interaction was. And I received some much needed affirmation that we did the right thing for our Cody by not waiting until Death came knocking before easing his transition. I’ve been wrestling with the weight of our choice, alternately sobbing and feeling at ease. Two very kind mamas shared their own experiences, and though I’m afraid in the moment I was not able to be coherent and gracious, it really did help.

It was really nice to see everyone come together and watch the children of the town run in a pack, playing Manhunt in the moonlight. One wonderful young lady (yep, I sound like my mom) kept track of my oldest for a bit so that Beanie and I could run inside to gather our belongings. Sweebee’s in this odd place now, somewhere between the babies and the big kids, too big to want to hang with the potty-training set, and just a bit young to run with the pack. Swee let me know that her “Big Girl Friend” held her hand or “upped” her the whole time, which amounted to maybe ten minutes. She was so pleased to be able to stay out with the big kids for a few minutes, and mama got a wee bit of practice in loosening her hold. I remarked to our hostess as we were leaving that clearly it was a much needed gathering, for all of us.

And in all of this, the biggest news of the week got lost. We have eggs! Wednesday, Friday, yesterday, and this morning – all in the same nesting box, presumably all laid by the Pinkster herself, as she’s the only one we’ve seen going in and out. The first was a really nice size, somewhere between medium and large I’d say. The rest have been a bit smaller, but all with strong shells and good, dark yolks. Today’s was still warm in my hand when I walked up the hill to bring it inside. Less than an hour later, it was in the pan for J’s breakfast. Definitely farm to table.

So here we are at the start of another week. My girls have been spending a couple of hours with my parents on Sunday mornings, which has quickly become such a blessing. I’m not quite sure what I’ll do with today’s free time yet, but the stack of projects is pretty tall and my office is a disaster area. Organizing my personal space could be yet another definition of “self-care,” and goodness knows that’s needed right now. Maybe I’ll start there.