After traveling all day, I’ve just arrived in San Francisco in anticipation of a full day of meetings here tomorrow. Robbi is in Chestertown doing a painting of deer standing in a spaghetti and meatball forest. The kids are asleep in their beds. And all seems well in our miniscule corner of the world.

We’ve been having various travels and adventures lately but haven’t had the time to write about them, and so I’ll pick just one moment to share, a moment from this past weekend. We drove to Fayetteville for my brother Alex’s wedding and we stayed in a motel.

On Friday night, we went to a pre-wedding party, at the end of which, the kids was each given a balloon.

August loves balloons. They might be his favorite thing. How devoted to balloons is he? This devoted.

The balloon is not tied to his wrist. No. His devotion is such that, even in sleep, his tiny fist remained clenched around that balloon.

That’s dedication. Or is it stubbornness? I tried to convince him of the merits of letting go of the balloon for the night, explaining that the motel ceiling would keep it from floating away. But he had another plan. And he stuck with it.

And that memory stuck with me as I contemplate sleep here on the other side of the country while my babies slumber 3,000 miles away.