Autumn has arrived… kind of. 80 degrees isn’t exactly what I consider fall weather, but it didn’t stop me from wearing my plaid flannel to go pick apples at the annual festival at the local orchard. Normally we wait until after the festival to get the apples at a discounted price, but when you have toddlers you have to compromise – and the idea of a $5/per adult admission for the Little Mr to get to see goats, play in corn mazes, take a trip on the hay ride, etc seemed more worth it than not. We had such a great afternoon that he fell asleep in the less than 10 minute ride home, so we drove around and around looking at houses for nearly 45 minutes just to let him get his nap out. And now I’m left with probably 20-25 pounds of apples that I need to figure out what to do with. Canning probably won’t happen this year, so I’m thinking lots and lots of baked pies and crisps over the next few weeks.

This changing of seasons is marred, however, by the hole in my heart that is my dog, Molly. After months and months of the decision being in the back of my mind, the last month has really taken it from something I needed to consider to something I had to make a final decision on. Her quality of life just wasn’t there anymore, and it killed me to have to make that call, but ultimately she was suffering and it was selfish of me to let her continue as she was. She was 13 years old and a wonderful companion to me for half of that time. My routines are all messed up – there isn’t anyone to let outside in the mornings or before bed, no one cleaning up food behind the toddler, no one following me around from room to room while I try to clean. Coming home from the vet felt… depressingly lonely. She wasn’t there to greet me at the door. Just emptiness. Sigh. I’m going to miss that furry, sweet thing.