Dear Sam (and my Edmonton girls, too),
Here's a rundown on our week as I experienced it.
Monday: We launched Jessica toward her Edmonton life with a celebratory dinner at Vimy’s in Waterton. Grayson and Brooke joined us, which made it feel extra special. Nate gave a speech (AI may or may not have been involved—sorry, Abby, you’d have disapproved). Tears were shed. I’ll let you decide whether they came from Nate or me. Either way, it was a beautiful evening celebrating the 18 years we’ve enjoyed Jess at home. 
Wednesday: As soon as Dad and I clocked out from work, we embarked on an epic vehicle relay. We rendezvoused with Abby at Cross Iron Mills, feasted in the food court (fine dining, mall edition), and then split: Abby and Jess zoomed north in the red car, while Dad, Nate, and I juggled the truck and the GREY car back to Cardston. Two cars, three drivers, and at least one prayer. 
Friday: Speaking of our truck, it joined the realm of the mechanically unfaithful this week, because... apparently, three weeks is the absolute limit before something in our fleet has to head to the shop. 
Weekend: Dad and I have been organizing like maniacs—the yard, our classrooms, and our now half-empty house. HALF. EMPTY. When did half my children get the nerve to live somewhere else? 
Comic relief of the week: Nate. He has taken up the role of “abandoned child,” and is milking that to the max. I mean, he pretends he's got it hard. Sometimes, when he and I are driving somewhere, he rolls down the window, sticks his head out, and yells “HELP!” Just out of the blue. Of course, he has to do this when we are passing by some dog walkers or people on their front lawns. It’s our bit. Our thing. It gets him every time. Don’t be fooled, though—between the dramatics, he’s prepping for a very academic school year. 
On the grown-up side of things: The Alberta government and teachers are circling the possibility of a strike in the next few weeks. Tensions are high, and negotiations have reached "an impasse." The last time Dad and I were both unemployed was 2003, right when Abby was born. We survived then (with diapers, no less), and I know we’ll survive this. But do pray for the leaders, for teachers, and maybe a little extra for us, too. If there has to be a strike, I need it to be very, very short-lived. 
And finally—Radar. He has sworn his undying loyalty and has promised never to leave me. I’ve decided to lean hard into that. (Canine co-dependence.) 
I pray for each of you every day. Little pieces of me are scattered wherever you are, but I trust God to hold you safely in His care. Be well, you three, and know that we are beyond proud of each of you.
All my love,
Mom 
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