Photos from Mother's Day, a picnic and kite-flying Clara's first beach at the beach where we did a triathlon in college, Brigantine, NJ.

Up late packing, Geoff and I are taking stock of things. Geoff's tetris-mind fitting tchochkes and frames in boxes from the food co-op. I'm wearing my sleeping girl in the sling, standing here at the computer just trying not to let myself downshift into a spiral of anxiety. Why do we have so many of this? Now begins the moratorium on that. When packing things up, it feels like we are breaking the set of our little life here. Punctuating a chapter. Did we accomplish what we needed to while here on this block? How were we agents of truth and beauty? How has God changed our souls in these past two years at this address? The thing that makes me most mournful is that Clara's birth was here in this house. I feel like that alone ought to add $20K to the value of this house. I'm just kidding, I don't know anything about how to assign a number to the bedroom you birth in or the kitchen you nourish your kids in.