Every evening feels like a slow creep toward the empty nest. I don’t remember when I first started feeling it, but when my first one entered double digits there arose an awareness that our time together was hypothetically more than halfway over. In the previous house the evenings brought with them the urgent countdown to bedtime.

Since we’ve moved here bedtime comes with an ache. It’s a subtle knowing that another day has passed that we will not have a chance to relive. It is the motivator for going downstairs and giving the boys their goodnight hugs. At the very least, if a goodnight hug was all I was able to do for them that day, it was enough. Last night they didn’t want me to leave, as we had started a mini conversation. They are intelligent and humorous.

And fun to be around. Tonight we skipped the games and had a talk about assassinations and history. Dad is more of the history person, though I too like the figures and stories. Last night they wanted to sleep outside again but I told them no. When they asked me why, I hesitated to tell them, but they did not push me too hard.