today feels like this

When I go up through the mowing field,

The headless aftermath,

Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,

Half closes the garden path.

And when I come to the garden ground,

The whir of sober birds

Up from the tangle of withered weeds

Is sadder than any words.

A tree beside the wall stands bare,

But a leaf that lingered brown,

Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,

Comes softly rattling down.

I end not far from my going forth

By picking the faded blue

Of the last remaining aster flower

To carry again to you.

-"Late Walk" by Robert Frost

It's a long story

For a guy who won't even consider dressing up for Halloween, J sure surprised me when I came home and found him all decked out for a murder mystery dinner. We were asked to get into character... I think he was disappointed when he wasn't required to do any actual rappelling, explosions, or sniping.

mommy moments

Saturday night we got home so late. It was way past Mason's bedtime. I took him straight to his room and put him straight into...a cuddle. He was goofy and sweet so I spent a long time holding and rocking him. It's not often he lets us hold him like that. I wanted to sing him to sleep but every time he'd look at me he'd laugh. Eventually we were both giggling and busting each other up. I finally put him in bed and he continued to laugh long after I closed the door.

On Sunday morning we were all feeling the effects of the late night. During the first hour of church we had to take Mason out three times. Then came time to leave him in nursery. His reaction entailed weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth. It was horrible. I burst into tears. It was heartbreaking and humiliating and so hard to walk away.

Behold the deep, powerful, wrenching emotions of being a parent. This unconditional love stuff is wearing me out. Never before have I felt so happy, so tired, so scared, so curious, and so desperate to succeed.

lkd fjg;slorjig

I'm very behind in all the things I want to write about. It's both frustrating and stimulating to have my brain crowded with things that need to be expressed. I have found so much satisfaction in writing. I've learned a lot about myself, and not just when materializing my musings, but in examining my process. I wish I could have a thought, write about it, and be done. But no. I'm trying to overcome this quirky incubation stage where the idea bothers me like a gnat. Since I can't catch it, it flits around, driving me to distraction.

Yesterday, I had several half-formulated topics stewing. I decided to jot them down to avoid forgetting them before I got around to writing about them. I grabbed a pen and paper and... nothing. Couldn't think of a single one. I have a vague recollection concerning insomnia and there was something about feminism, but I can't pull together a complete sentence even now. I keep trying to revisit those topics, but the timing is wrong. It's like throwing a couple pounds of soft butter on a pottery wheel and attempting to make a vase. No matter how hard you try, it's just not going to happen. Trying probably makes it worse. and buttery-er.

What did you do today?

Oh, I just orchestrated the distribution of 95 produce baskets. It felt good to get so much done before 11am. Now I'm ready for a nap.

I love our volunteers. And I really really love my most strong, helpful, supportive volunteer, who doesn't get to volunteer because he's forced. Sorry and thanks, Jas'.

Caught in the act

My mom is amazing. She might not have everlasting energy but she sure acts that way. From the time I can remember my mom would get up before the sun, cook a hot breakfast for my dad and have the house in order before most people have gotten out of bed. Everything is done with a hustle and flurry. Watching a movie with my mom was never a time to kick up our feet and relax. She'd be in and out of the room, folding laundry, checking on the homemade bread in the oven, answering the phone, and unloading the dishwasher. She's just that kind of gal.

My mom is getting older. I'm not being insulting; I am finally admitting the truth. Though she still gets more done in a day than I can in a week, you can tell by the end of that productive day that she's tuckered out.

Now to tease. Sometimes my dear mom will sit down "just for a minute" between chores or while watching the evening news. Her body must scream "At last! A moment to rest!" and flip the shutdown switch. In the blink of an eye, Mom will be soundly asleep. She will not admit this. If you happen to walk in on her, she will awaken, jolt to attention, and start doing something. Anything. "Oh I just closed my eyes for a second, I'm almost done reading this book", or "I wasn't asleep, I just need to finish watching the news". I don't know why she's convinced sleep is such a forbidden act, because of everyone I know she deserves it the most.

It must run in families. And yes it skipped a generation seeing as I sleep as much as possible. Little Mason acts just like his Grandma when I open his bedroom door. He startles to standing as fast as his little body can, as if to say, "I wasn't asleep, I'm ready to go! I was just playing with...my blanket! Here it is. And my dog. Here! See? Now let's go do something". I love to watch him scramble around in his crib, picking up things, pushing animals around, embarrassed to be caught sleeping.

And I love this picture. He looks so long, restful, and boyish.

Pepperbellys: Three Stars

I don't claim to be some sort of culinary expert, but I am an expert at giving my unsolicited uneducated opinion. So I've chosen to critique Pepperbellys. It is located in Richfield, UT. I have wanted to eat there since hearing it's silly name about four years ago. If we do eat out while in Richfield, we usually go to the Ideal Dairy, which I rate abillizionstarsandtwothumbsup because of their strangely addictive ice cream slush concoction. But I digress.

As soon as we walked in, were seated, and given our drinks, and served a bucket of chips to snack on, I declared Pepperbellys to be five stars in my book. The decor was "old American truck stop" and the walls were brightly painted with industrial duct material wainscoting. I was pleased with the fresh flavor of my strawberry lemonade, but Jason was excited by the size of the drinks. They were huge! For a fellow who often chokes and requires ample liquid to SURVIVE, he is certainly qualified to be critical of drink size. Finally, the chips and salsa were scrumptious, although I had been craving salsa for weeks and that might have impaired my judgement.

We should have left then whilst I was completely satisfied. Although the service was great, the food was nothing spectacular. I do consider myself very knowledgeable and experienced when it comes to quesadillas. I have had some of the best. Pepperbellys cooked up some of the worst. It was filled with more cilantro than cheese and the chicken and tortillas were dry. The guys enjoyed their food enough to finish their plates, but that's not saying much.

In the end Jason didn't choke during this meal and they sent David home with a free drink refill to go, so with those redeeming qualities the average score ends up at: THREE STARS.

I'm dying to hear the story behind this sign