Drumstick.

So a week ago I was basking in a successful Mother's Day Reclamation event here in Nashville, and taking joy in the news that was coming in from the twenty five other Mothers Acting Up and sister events from all over the country.

So Monday morning, one week ago, Ziggy and I headed out for the early part of the day to play and run errands, fully anticipating an afternoon of putting in the lasagna garden beds in our little backyard.

Alas, while at Wild Oats, Ziggy woke with what shortly became excruciating pain in his tummy. Long story very short, we ended up at Vanderbilt Children's Hospital and not coming home until Wednesday night.

It was a traumatic time for all of us, and one which we're still processing all the while digging into the normalcy of our life together.

I'll be writing more in the coming days and weeks of this time.
For now, a simple image with the lightest caption we can give it:

So busted tired after weeks and months of hard work and then the emotional and physical tumult, drain and fright of Ziggy's illness, I tucked him into bed and fell into it myself, to be awakened shortly thereafter by My Beloved Mister who stumbled in over my leg and hip, which didn't even make it into the big family bed before the rest of me completely surrendered to slumber. Morning came, and my Mister said of the sprawl, "It was like the fridge door came open and the chicken leg fell out."