Dinner was good. Real good. We ate outside, enjoying each other's company, our deck, our leafing-out-like-it's-on-steroids Sugar Maple, a beautiful night, good food. We talked about how much we love the boys, how precious and dear and smart and charming they are (we think so), how heart-achingly proud we are of them. Jack, my bean-pole blondie with few and far between teeth, came downstairs to tell me good night. Clad in a one-piece, green- and blue-striped long john, mussed hair, a proud smile stretching his face, he hugged and kissed me and said, "Mom, I scored the first run of our season. Me!" As if he surprised himself. And he probably did. And these are the moments you hope for, for your children. You raise them, prepare them, teach them, love them, soothe them, throw them out to new experiences and hope desperately that the foundation you've provided is enough, win or lose. Today it was, and I know that boost will fill Jack's reservoir of confidence, his sense that practice and just getting out there and trying, even if you're scared, are worth it. It was magnificent, and I toasted him tonight. I smothered him with kisses, firmly sent him to bed because he was so tired and cannot wait to see him tomorrow. He's made it up another rung of the ladder of growing up, and I am just bursting. Enough kvelling. Dinner! Don't you love my sear marks on this filet? I don't often grill my steaks, preferring my Lodge on the stove-top and in the oven, but tonight, it just seemed the right thing to do. And I'd forgotten how delicious this pesto is, and YO on this Grgich Hills Petite Sirah! WOW!