The very best nest there ever was...

It's one of those days when I just feel like freeze-framing a moment, it feels so perfect. Fionna is off to school, via the daddy-taxi. They left happy, joking, eager for their days (probably Fionna more so than dh). And I'm left in a quiet house, where Grady and Ainslie are catching a rare late-morning sleep (if you call sleeping until 8 late). I keep tip-toeing in to check, Grady so sprawled and sturdy, Ainslie nestled and tucked in such a tidy little way. It rained last night -- my garden is green and fragrant. I have robins hopping, raucous black birds preening, doves quietly but persistently flocking, and tiny little golden finches perching on the my overly tall (but delectable to them) rocket weed that has full blown seeds heads for them to gobble (picture big dandelions).

I wrote yesterday of my dirty house and over-burgeoning mental turmoil. But this morning I feel like everything in right in my world, my nest ("the very best nest" to quote P.D. Eastman).