Good, bad, busy

People, the news from Boston is just horrible. What compels folks to act in such evil, cruel ways? Hate? Zealotry? Ignorance? Insanity? Perhaps an explosive combination of all that plus some. I was so busy today that I didn't hear about the explosions until after the fact; I'd manned a moon bounce at Ol's school for two hours, taken him to a swim lesson, and attempted to process a really troubling story from an acquaintance. I finally got everyone picked up and dropped off and was running an errand when I received a text with the news from my Mom. I often find, in recent years, that these sorts of tragedies don't overly affect me when I first hear them like they would have a decade or two ago (perhaps I've finally lived long enough to truly know just how much bad shit there is in the world), but as the hours afterwards pass, my mood darkens and I sink into a state of god, not another one.

To counter the sense of crappiness in the world, I wrote a thank you note and baked brownies as an appreciation for some generous friends who've been incredible Samaritans of late (I'm fine; they're helping someone I know who is definitely in need). I did my best to craft a decent condolence note; they are always so difficult to write. I thought about how terribly lucky I and my family are, how many good people are in our lives. And now I'm going to try and get a good night's sleep.

I hope I'll have more for you tomorrow. I hope that if you had loved ones in Boston, that they are OK.

Sunday steak dinner

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!

Happy Sunday

The kids spent the night at T's parents' house last night which is always such an enormous treat for Tom and me. Most unfortunately, Nutmeg jumped on my face at 5:15 this morning and I was never able to return to sleep but c'est la vie. And yes, I was sure we'd shut the door last night. That cat can apparate; I swear. The plus side of this ridiculously early wake was that I read quite a bit of the paper and made a pie and a good coffee, all before 8:20am. I wouldn't have wished to be so productive during those hours, but again, c'est la vie. T and I went to the farmers market together and ate fresh wood-oven grilled breakfast pizzas, picked up some treats -including these gorgeous peach blossom boughs- and headed home. I've managed to get a burr in my booty about spring-i-fying the house so MUST repaint the guest room. You'd think I was pregnant with all this nesting- a couple new pillows here, fresh flowers there, a new duvet here, different paint there. I swear just before Oliver was born, T found me ironing our guest room duvet cover. I hate to iron and said upon our engagement that I just do not do it, not did I intend to ever do it, so we both knew something was in the wind. Lo, Oliver came two days later.

But anyway, I put up two big paint samples and am about to go see how they've evolved in the drying process. Meanwhile, Jack had his second baseball game, got two hits, scored his team's first run of the season and though they ended up losing by one run, I just could not be more proud. You know when people surprise you? When they demonstrate an ability you didn't know they had, or a strength, or a weakness, or whatever? Well, Jack has never been terribly interested in sports nor has he demonstrated much in the way of athletic prowess (he gets this from me; though I insisted on playing softball, I was scared of balls and hid in right field for the entire season making designs in the dirt with my cleats. You think my parents were bored stiff? You bet). Anyway, he's really enjoying baseball and loves practicing, and you should have seen the look on his face today when he reached first base and then again when he ran through home. You couldn't have bought him (or me) for a million bucks.

We returned home with T's parents for blackberry pie and ice cream as an early birthday celebration for moi. The boys made me wonderful cards- do you LOVE this self-portrait of Oliver, complete with his chin dimple? And that circle between his legs is his tummy. Just some clarification.

Tonight I'm going to grill a steak, top it with my mint-pistachio pesto, roast some sunchokes, warm some good bread, open a Petite Sirah I've been saving and take a load off with my hubs.