The reception lingered into the early evening, but at last it was over, all of us scattering to our various homes and apartments and cottages. Ian and Emily were sleepy and wobbly, full of sandwiches and cookies and too much punch. Connor carried Emily up the hill, her dark head pillowed on his shoulder, while I held Ian by the hand and helped him along as best I could. Despite protestations of wanting to stay up just a little longer — “it’s not even eight o’clock, Mommy!” — they both conked out almost the moment their heads hit their pillows.
Right then, I could relate. There might have been a few other times in my life when I’d felt this tired, but I couldn’t remember when they were. It was hard to believe that only several days earlier, we’d been transporting ourselves from place to pl
