There’s always a last time. Sometimes you don’t know when it is.

Sometimes you do.

Tonight, I asked for a last time: a last family night dinner, where Jared makes his grilled cheese sandwiches and we just chat.

It’s no secret to most people we know that we don’t sit down for dinner as a family every night. It’s an event in our household; it’s a thing we do only every few weeks.

And: I’ve come to like it that way. Nobody feels obligated, it’s not a thing any of us take for granted. When we eat together, we actually enjoy our time together.

At the end of dinner, Liam asked to play Slapzi. We were all in, except Porter. There was lamenting and guilt-tripping and Porter wasn’t budging. But he didn’t walk away from the table in-progress of game.

We pivoted, and 7 Wonders came out.

And three rounds later, nobody really wanted to be done even though it was time.

And there were obligatory mom hugs, complete with me having to chase Oliver down the hall to get one.

I didn’t have to chase either of the big boys for their hugs.

Because: we all knew we were having a last moment.

Because: two of the three of them go off to their respective colleges within the next week and a half, and the home base part of the family shrinks to a party of three.

The next time I ask Jared to make a grilled cheese night, it will be for me and Oliver and him, that’s all.

Tonight was the last family night dinner, and tonight was the last family night game night for a while. Until the after: until after both big boys have experienced life on their own, out in the big yonder.

And there won’t be Liam to scorekeep if we sit down in a month to play something, and there won’t be Porter strategizing to win, and there won’t be jokes at Mom’s expense because she doesn’t try hard to win because she doesn’t understand the rules and just mostly wants to spend time with her boys.

For over twelve years now, it’s been the five of us.

For over eighteen years, it’s been at least the four of us.

Eighteen years is a long, long time.

And all of a sudden I am a mom to adults, and they are far more competent than either Jared or myself can take credit for preparing them to be.

It’s appropriate that Liam asked to play a game after dinner. Liam is ALWAYS the one to ask for a game. Too often, in various stages of life, I’ve said no, sitting out for whatever reason or another. I’m grateful that Porter hung around until we pivoted to something he was interested in playing

I am grateful I said yes tonight; I am grateful we all said yes; I am grateful that family night dinner and family game night stretched into three full hours of quality time that we remember; that we can hold onto.

Who am I kidding: tonight was three hours of some of the best time of my life, with the people I love most in this world.

My heart is about to be stretched across a thousand mile triangle. I’m hopeful that it isn’t stretched to the point of breaking.

They’re ready. In some ways, I am, too. In other ways, I am so not ready.

But, they’re ready. So, it happens.

And, here we are and Jared and I did a thing: we raised two full grown adults who are ready to take care of themselves, out on their own. We did it with a village, but we did it.

But those boys are the ones that did the thing that gets them to Athens, Georgia and Grinnell, Iowa. And they did it with a village, too.

Villages I am ever-so-grateful for.

There will be breaks: Christmas; visits back and forth. Holidays and summers might look different. It’s possible this has been the last summer we all spend under the same roof. I don’t know.

But I sure am glad that I can remember tonight, forever.