Earlier this year JJ gave me my first warning. It went something like, “Mom. You have one more year of reading and then it’s done.” I’ve blocked out the exact words and the exact timing as one does when stabbed directly in the heart with a blunt baby spoon found…
My dearest Nate, It’s seriously September and you know what that means? Time for Mama’s belated birthday letter attempting to capture just what ten-year-old Nate is like. This year I’m going for a new Day-in-the-Life format. You know, fourteen thousand steps in your shoes… you’ll see. 7:00AM: You stumble from your bed, Kramer-style,…
Earlier this summer we took a short detour from the Survivor Marathon we’re on to watch the latest season of Top Chef. Or Top Escallop as I like to say. At some point there was a frustrated Italian contestant named Fabio who was griping about another chef named Jamie, of course, “All…
Dear Papa, Today’s your birthday. I think you’d be turning 67. Pretty sure you were never 100% sure and I’m not 100% sure so we’re even. Ha! We think about you all the time. Nonna told me she saw River twice today. Certainly doesn’t seem like a coincidence. I’ve been…
The Central Coast is not exactly a hotbed for new, diverse dining experiences. So when something new shows-up… I. Am. On. It. One such place is the chicly designed Paso Robles Public Market. For the record, it’s infinitely more attractive design-wise than the not yet opened SLO Public Market. But I’m…
We had a terrific Saturday in Portland today. Started with a breakfast feast at a diner-like joint up the street coincidentally called The Feast. Nate didn’t have Japanese pancakes, but it was definitely a plate of pancakes the size of Okinawa. Then we headed to the Japanese garden and it…
On Sunday, May 23rd we trooped down to the Tractor Supply and picked out four baby chicks to replenish our aging flock. We chose two black and white baby Sandos, a little Rhode Island Red, and an even littler golden one with feathered feet. We brought the girls home and…
Jake’s convinced he’s smarter than me. (He literally just read this first line over my shoulder and said, “Well that’s true.”) Which shouldn’t be surprising given 1. I’m pretty sure he’s the original Boss Baby and 2. He’s a twelve-year-old boy. The thing he texts me most is some kind…
We had our final baseball game this past week. While the boys sat lined-up on the concrete wall behind the dugout, inhaling pizza and cookies, Coach Gillett gave a sincere and spot-on little speech of recognition for each player. As might be expected from an attorney coach who directed the…
Today as we drove to baseball practice, I marveled quietly at Bruno Mars’, Leave the Door Open, being sung word-for-word in the backseat, especially when it got to: Cuddling Rose petals in the bathtub, girl, lets jump in It’s bubblin’ Neither of them missed a beat. I’m not sure they…