Who the Hell is Jake?

And then this came....

from OUR VET!

Well, it's the thought that counts.... right Jack?

A Moment of Calm

Sunday Morning.....

between storms

Stocking Up

I don't know if it's the threat of this weekend's big storm, or if word of the potential grocery strike has made it to the bird world, but my backyard, feathered friends have been stocking up--eating today like there's no tomorrow.  

Unfortunately, these photos do not reflect this, as every time I tried to capture the crowded feeder, most of them became camera shy and flew away.  

So you'll have to take my word for it. :)

Bird Nerd signing out--

A Peaceful Passing

My dog, Jack, died on July 22.  He was just a few months shy of sixteen and for nearly all of those years, he was my beloved, best, four-legged friend.  

Until today, I have been unable to write about it.  It was too hard, still too recent.  Just sitting down at the computer, knowing I was going to think about him, brought tears to my eyes.  So I would walk away.  But, today, for some reason, it feels okay.  

And it's not that I don't still miss him, for I do.  I still expect to see him lying on the couch whenever I return home.  I still expect him to come sneaking into the kitchen whenever I slice cheese for my sandwich or cook bacon for breakfast.  I still expect to see him snuggled up on his bed when I wake up in the morning.  But these absences no longer bring me to my knees.  

It's true: life goes on.    

For people who've never been in love with a dog, (yes I said in love with a dog) my grief must seem exaggerated, foolish.  For, surely, people don't love dogs.  Not really love them.  At least not the kind of love we associate with our partners, our children, our families.  

But those people are wrong, so wrong.  For when you find the right dog, the dog that fits so perfectly with you and your family, you are getting so much more than just a dog.  You are getting a child, a best friend, an unconditional lover all rolled into one big, sweet, bundle of fur.  And there is no other love like it.  

And the only way to prove this to the naysayers out there, would be to suggest they go and get themselves a dog.  And maybe, just maybe, if they're really lucky, they'll get one that's half as amazing as Jack.

............................................................................................................................................

Jack joined our family on January 10, 1998.  Way back when our little family was just beginning.  We still lived in our first home.  Anna was a just little, tow-headed four-year-old, Dave had way more hair, and I could still run for miles.  It was a long time ago.   

The minute we saw him, sitting in the cage at The Humane Society, smiling, happy, fur as white as paper, and already loving us with those big, brown eyes, we knew he was the one for us.  

And for all his years with us, he was never bad.  He never peed in the house. (Except for when he first moved in, but we just blamed that on his nerves and a new environment) And the only time(s) he ever threw up, followed a binging episode.  But who could blame him?  I've been known to overindulge on my children's holiday candy from time to time as well.  He didn't get on the furniture, until he was pretty old and I deemed it necessary as, surely, the hard, wooden floors were painful on his sore, arthritic hips and back.  Jack was just one good dog.  A good, good dog.  Except for the shedding.  The extraordinarily, massive amount of shedding.  But, hey, no one's perfect.

And all Jack ever asked of us, was to love him and to take him everywhere we went.  And, so, of course, we did.  Even though he didn't love riding in the car, preferring to lay on the floor at our feet rather than sit on the seat and watch the world whiz by, he went with us.  During the day, he'd tag along with me as I ran errands to the grocery store, the post office.  On weekends he'd accompany us to the coffee shop, sitting at our feet on sunny days, or waiting in the car when it rained.

But these weren't Jack's favorite places.  He much preferred going to the ocean,

wading in the waters at Ocean Shores

or the mountains,

or on the boat.

Actually,  he didn't love boating; but he went, because he loved me. 

He even liked going to the races.

And he was always my biggest fan.

His favorite place, though, had to be the trails at Point Defiance Park.  For there he was free.  Free from leashes,  (shh...don't tell anyone) free to run.  Because running is what Jack did best.   Running is what Jack loved.

Jack is actually running the trails near Sun Mountain in this picture
as I didn't usually bring my camera when we ran at Point Defiance 

He loved the trails, the dirt. And if there was a mud puddle anywhere close by, he would find it and blaze right through it.  Right through the deepest part of it.  He loved bounding into the brush, disappearing from my sight all together, in pursuit of a squirrel, a chipmunk, or some smell recognizable only to him, only to reappear down the trail smiling, as if asking what took you so long?

And then, confident I was still on his tail he'd turn and be off again, feet barely hitting the ground.  Leaping over fallen logs, jumping up and over rocks, with such ease, such grace.  And he had an endurance that kept him going mile after mile, never tiring, never slowing.  

Eventually, though, he did slow. And when that happened, we walked the trails.  Until that became too much and we walked the neighborhood.  Until that became too much and we played in the back yard.  Until that became too much and we had to say goodbye. Which is what we did on July 22nd, with the help of Dr. Suzanne from Peaceful Passing.
..................................................................................................................................................

Dr. Suzanne arrived at our home at 10:30 a.m. with her box of medical supplies and her little bag of dog treats. She said hello to each of us and allowed me to hug her even though I'd never met her before.  Then she sat down next to Jack who was "resting" on his green sleeping bag from Grandpa, said hello and told him what a beautiful, beautiful boy he was. And from then on, there wasn't a dry eye in the house.

She told us exactly what would happen, how long everything would take, and when she was satisfied that we were all ready, she began.

First, she injected Jack with a pain medication and a sedative to "make him very sleepy."  This would take just a few minutes and afterward we were allowed to hug him, pet him, talk to him.  Which we all did in turn.  Even my Dad.  Until he had to return to the couch and wipe his eyes and blow his nose with one of the bandannas he always has in his pocket.

Then she gave him the second, and final, injection.  This one stopped his heart and his breathing and put him to sleep forever.  And forever came very quickly.  Within just seconds, it seemed, he was gone.

While she went to her truck to retrieve the gurney to remove his body, we all got one last moment alone with him.  One last time to touch that soft white fur.  One last time to kiss that sweet, black nose.  One last time to look into his big, brown, eyes.  One last time to tell him how much we loved him.

And then she was back.  After she and Dave lifted him onto the gurney, I wrapped him up in the white blanket with the black paw prints.  But I couldn't cover his face.  So I asked her, "do I have to cover his face?"  And she said "no, honey.  You don't have to cover his face."

Then, in a procession of sorts, we all followed him out to her truck.

She assured me he wouldn't slip around and I gave him one last kiss, whispered goodbye buddy, and then we returned to the house to take care of the paperwork.

Then it was time for her to go.  So I hugged her again, this woman I didn't know, thanked her for being with us on this very difficult day, and then she and Jack were gone.
..................................................................................................................................................

That was just over two months ago.  Since then I have cried, a lot.  And then less.  We planted Jack's Tree and buried some of his ashes along with it.  And now, whenever we come home, we all say "hi Jack."  (I hope that isn't weird, but too bad if it is)  And we are adjusting to life without him.  We are still finding Jack Hairs from time to time.  Those same hairs I cursed for almost  sixteen years.  And every time I spot one, I smile.

Dr. Suzanne has no idea I'm writing this post.  I haven't spoken to her since I picked up Jack's ashes, which brought on a whole other set of tears.  (Who knew how heavy a wooden box with the ashes of a sixty pound dog would weigh?) But I want to make sure people know about her, about the service she provides.  I realize saying goodbye to your pet at home may not be for everyone.  It might be too close, too hard.  But, for us, it was the right thing.

Because he was at home, instead of in some cold, sterile exam room, Jack didn't even have to get up. He didn't have to be physically disturbed.  I believe this helped make his passing calm, and completely without fear.   And because the room was filled with everyone in the world who really loved him, I know he was at peace at the end.

As for Dr. Suzanne, we couldn't have asked for a better vet.  She was  kind, gentle, and just let us do what we needed to do, which was to cry, love our dog one last time, and love one other without making us feel rushed.  For this I am truly grateful.

Rest in Peace 

Jack E. Boy

You will be forever missed 

xoxo-
Sonja

A Footnote... What Racing Granny Taught Me

My recent race with Granny showed me something about myself, something most people would never guess about me, but something I'd long suspected:  I am competitive.  I am an athlete.    

I have always known that I like to work out. In fact, I love to exercise.  I love working hard, pushing myself.  As long as there are no sit-ups involved.  I hate those, and I have the tummy to prove it.  I don't even mind sweating, which is a relief, because I am a sweater! Ask Nora.  She always tells me how much I stink when I get home from a run or a ride.  As you can imagine, I love her for this.

I have always loved standing at the start of a race, butterflies flapping wildly in my stomach, waiting for the gun to go off.  I love passing my competitors, jockeying for position, before settling into a groove.  Since I don't race bikes, I can't claim to have experienced any of this on two wheels.  I have, however, done several long, organized rides and while, clearly, none of them were races, I found myself behaving as if they were.  I've found myself wanting to skip the food stops (not always a good idea) because I don't want to waste precious time.  I've found myself pushing hard up the hills, driven by a desire to pass people, and get to the finish, in a respectable time.  (respectable, being a very subjective word here) I've even caught myself, looking back on rides trying to figure out how I could have ridden faster, stronger.   None of these revelations could have surprised me more.

However, simply enjoying exercise, enjoying hard physical activity, does not a winner make.  Of this, I am a perfect example.  For, I never win.  Never even come close to winning! Yet still I strive: to do my best, to PR, to beat the old ladies up the hills and to the finish line.  

Isn't that what being an athlete is really all about?

That and sweating a lot?

Game on Granny!

While visiting Anna last weekend, Dave and I rode the Chuckanut Metric Century, one of the loops in the Chuckanut Century Challenge. I had been looking forward to this ride for weeks, and I couldn't wait to ride the roads Dave used to ride while a student at Western.  I couldn't wait to wind along Chuckanut Drive under skies of blue.  I couldn't wait to see the beautiful, dark waters of Bellingham Bay.  I couldn't wait to ride through the lush farms and gardens of Whatcom County.  

But when Sunday dawned, gray and foggy, (not to mention with a significant chance of rain, thunder, and lightning in the forecast) I knew my dreams of riding through beautiful scenery would not be coming true.  Instead, we rolled along Chuckanut,  seeing nothing beyond the trees but thick, foggy, pea soup.  And no one needs me to tell them what that looks like.  How there is no beginning or end.  No top or bottom.  Just a wall of gray, that envelops everything it comes in contact with.

And as for those beautiful farms I'd been dreaming of, well, all I saw were huge, wet bundles of hay wrapped in white plastic, horses wearing jackets to keep off the cool, damp air, and sunflowers, in every stage of life and death. But mostly death.  Sadly, I also saw my very first veal farm.

I did not see (or hear) the calves which were housed in these ventilated boxes that looked no bigger than large dog crates, so I am hoping they were just sleeping.  As comfortably as a cow in a dog crate can sleep.  I did, however, re-vow that I would never EVER eat veal.  And not because I'm one of those tree-hugging, card-carrying members of PETA, because I am not.  I am, however, a sensible, responsible, animal loving, animal eater who knows that cows should not live in dog crates. Just like I know that chickens should not be packed, like sardines, into cages that keep them from ever seeing the light of day.  But this post isn't about food production, or farming; it's about bicycling.  So I'll hop off my high horse now. Thank you for listening.  

And so we pedaled on.  Until it started to rain--a lot! Until I got soaked to the bone.  Until I got hungry--extremely hungry!  Hungrier than I have ever been on a ride.  Until we were only half-way done.  

So, up to this point, the ride hadn't gone quite as planned.  But was it a complete bust?  Absolutely not! It just got better.

At mile 47 we, finally, reached the food stop.  But, since I also had to REALLY go to the bathroom, I detoured past the food table and headed for the honey bucket.  Unfortunately, while trying to take care of business, remove my gloves, all while avoiding the seat, I realized there was NO HAND SANITIZER! This bothered me more than the rain.  Thus, I had no choice but to clean my hands, as well as I could, with my gloves.  (My wet, muddy gloves) 

After thanking the volunteers for standing out in the cold just so we silly bike riders could get something to eat, I gingerly grabbed one peanut-buttered-bagel.  No need to spread my germs to the other riders.  But one bagel wasn't enough.  So I wolfed down a second,  got back on my bike, and headed for Bow Hill.  And this is where it really gets better.

You see, as I was pedaling up Bow Hill (very steep Bow Hill) I came up behind Granny.  Granny was making steady progress ahead of me, cruising along in her neon, yellow jacket and shower-cap-covered helmet.   As I passed her, I offered up my usual, friendly good-morning-greeting.  That's when I noticed the RAMROD reflective tape she had wrapped around her bike.  In case you have never heard of RAMROD, it stands for Ride Around Mt. Rainier in One Day.  And it's brutal.  Or so I hear.  From Dave.  

But I chose to ignore those yellow strips of tape and kept going.  My legs, on the other hand, felt the pressure and decided this would be a good point to simply die.  So just as I crept over the top of the hill,  Granny passed ME and through a smile that revealed absolutely no signs of fatigue said,  "well that warmed me up!" And then she was gone!  Gone from me.  Gone from Dave.  Just gone.  A little, yellow speck disappearing down the road. 

And I was crushed.  Literally and figuratively.  

As I caught up to Dave, I asked him how old he thought she was.  My fragile ego was already showing signs of distress.  

He said, "I don't know.  It doesn't matter.  She's ridden RAMROD though, she's tough. Besides, she's  retired, she probably rides every day."  His attempts to make me feel better were not working.  

So I watched her go.  And go and go.  And then, I thought, enough watching. This old lady was NOT going to beat me to the finish line!  Determined not to let her out of my sights, I hunkered down and gave it my all. And that, my friends, is how the last twenty-two miles of The Chuckanut Century Challenge changed from a ride to a race.

A race that had only two competitors.  But two is all it takes to make up a race, right?  Who cares if one of them doesn't even know she's racing!  A race that kept my heart beating, my legs pumping, and my stubborn streak growing with every passing mile.

Later, as I turned onto Old Samish, in the lead, I thought I had it in the bag.  I was going to win this thing!--This thing that wasn't even a race.  But then she passed us again!  Sitting on some old dude's wheel!  What is it with these old folks!  Their calves look like rocks!  They pass by me like an adult passing a child who's in the way.  And they don't even appear to be breathing hard.  Whilst I was feeling every single heart beat.  Whilst the side-stitch in my right side was telling me that I hadn't taken in enough fluids!  Whilst I was sweating in places that should never feel sweat! (Don't you just love getting to use words like whilst?)

"Oh, I should just let her have it," I joked to Dave.  

"Have what?" he said.  He was totally bursting my bubble.   Nor was he going out front to help me make my way back up to her.  No.  If I wanted to win this thing, this thing that wasn't even a race, it was going to be on my own.  Dave knew it.  I knew it.  Even Granny knew it.  And as she got down into her drops on the next little hill, (I kid you not) she proved it to me.  Well so be it.  Game on Granny!

As you can see, I had no choice at this point.  A challenge had been made.  So I put OB into gear, and pedaled right by her.  I didn't even look at her. I was afraid she'd be smiling--or worse--laughing at me, for being such a silly little girl.  A silly little girl with a big ego.  And I didn't look back--not once.  With Dave on my wheel, and about ten miles to go, I pedaled as fast and as hard as I could.  Around the corners, up the hills, past other cyclists just finishing their leisurely ride.  Until I reached Fairhaven and it's stoplights.  But, unlike The Weather Gods, who had been against me earlier in the morning, The Stoplight Gods were on my side.  And they proved it by keeping those lights nice and green all the way to downtown Bellingham.  All the way to the Boundary Bay Brewery, where the earlier finishers (the real winners) were already drinking beer and eating burgers.  And all the way to the van where I promptly dismounted, stopped my Garmin at 69.66 miles and smiled at Dave.  He just shook his head. 

As I turned to look behind me, he said, "she's not there.  You dropped her like a bad habit."

But his words didn't seem to validate my victory.  They just made me feel bad....for a second.

Good game Granny!
You are a rock star!

S & D -- 22 Years

Life's a long and winding ride...

Better have the right one by your side....

(from Kip Moore's, "Hey Pretty Girl")

Twenty-two years ago today I married the right one.  And I'm so glad, because I can't imagine taking this ride with anyone but him.

Happy Anniversary D-

xoxo
S-

Special Delivery

I didn't have to go to the coffee shop to get my fair scone after all.  Nora bought me one. And she bought Dave one.  And she even bought her teacher one!  

Delivered luke-warm and fair-fresh right to my kitchen counter

And she brought them home for us, right after she got done eating this.  

See the bag!  

And doing this. 

Just look at that face!  That is the face of a kid having fun, great fun!  (Just like I knew she would.)  

And I wasn't there to witness it.  (Just like I knew I wouldn't be.) 

Thankfully, Addie texted me the pictures.  (And thank goodness for IPhones.)  

So forget everything I said about the fair: the long lines, the stinky animals, the crappy food.  Next year, I am so there.  With my own kid.  And my own IPhone.  Ready to start a new fair streak.

Keep on keeping on-

S-

Doin' the Puyallup (I Mean Washington State Fair)

Today Nora Jane went to the fair with her friend Ella, and Ella's mom.  And I'm feeling a bit ambivalent about it.

First of all, let me say that, honestly, I didn't want to go to the fair.  For I have not missed a Puyallup Fair since Anna was in a stroller and too little to walk around all day.  (So why did we take her then?  I have NO idea)  At any rate, Anna is now twenty-years-old.  That means every September for the last seventeen years, I have stood in lines, thrown balls at bottles that never topple over, eaten crappy food, walked past gigantic horse butts, and held cute little bunnies all so my kids could do all of these things too.  I've even celebrated my wedding anniversary at the fair, as that was the only day that we could squeeze it into our schedule....Romantic, huh?

The only thing I haven't done at the fair is ride the rides.  At least not the big rides.  Because they make me nauseous.  One year (the first year Dave and I ever went to the fair) I even threw up.  Just like I knew I would.  But Dave did not believe me when I said the rides make me sick.  He thought it was "all in my head."  So, finally, after a burger and a few snacks, I relented.  And that was the last time he ever asked me to ride a big ride.

And, despite that one little blip, the fair has always been great, or, at least okay.  

But seventeen years, come on!  I should get a medal right?

So when Nora recently asked me when we'd be going to the fair this year, I thought, I'm so sorry that you're kid #2.  Life is really going to suck for you this September, because I just don't want to go.  

Luckily, my friend Addie came to my rescue.  When she asked if she and her girls could take Nora to the fair, I didn't even hesitate.  I immediately said yes.  I didn't even care if she missed a half-day of school.  I didn't even care if she missed soccer practice.  I. Didn't. Have. To. Go.

As I watched Nora climb into Addie's van, though, I felt those familiar  pangs of envy.  The pangs I get when I realize my kid is going to be doing something really fun and I'm going to miss seeing it. And then I remembered about the scones.  How am I going to get my fair scone?  (Scones, you see, are the only Fair Food that doesn't fall into the Crappy Food Category.)

And in a moment of weakness, as the van doors were closing, I almost called out and asked if I could come along.  

But then I realized I could just go to my old coffee shop in Fircrest and get the exact same scone.  Without any waiting in line.  And I turned and walked into the house.  

Have fun y'all!

Two Cup Tuesday

Last weekend was busy and full. It started with Nora's sleep-less over on Friday, continued with her soccer game on Saturday, which was followed by a drive to Bellingham to see Anna and her new (very old) pad.  When Sunday dawned, gray and foggy, Dave and I, being the engaged parents that we are, ditched the girls and rode the Chuckanut Metric Century (part of the Chuckanut Century Challenge) before piling back into the van and driving home.  Needless to say, Monday morning I was pooped!

So I did what any daughter of my father's would do.  I drank coffee.  All day.  And although it didn't seem to end my fatigue, I continued, as it gave me good reason to eat more chocolate chip cookies. By the time soccer practice rolled around at 6:00 p.m., I was starting to feel alive, or at least more awake. 

And by the time I tucked Nora Jane into bed at nine o'clock last night, my caffeine-infused system was UP!  And I stayed up until well past midnight, reading, eating popcorn, reading again, and looking at Instagram.  I even texted Anna, because, surely, she'd be up!  But, alas, I got no response until 7:30 this morning when she replied, "I was tired. I was sleeping."

So, here I am on Two-Cup Tuesday determined to end this horrible cycle.  

Cup #2

Thus, I will finish this cup, write about my bike ride, and make the spaghetti sauce for my dinner.  What I will NOT do, however, is drink any more coffee.  Not even one little sip.  Not even if I feel like I'm going to fall asleep on the keyboard.  Maybe I will even take a nap.  

What am I saying?  I must be tired.  I never nap.  Ever.  Napping is for lazy people.  Or people who are sick. Not me. No way.

Yawn....

Summer's Over, the Tomatoes are Ready, and I'm Getting Back to Business!

Today I am regretting my decision to take the entire summer off from blogging.   It's just been too long.  Sitting at the computer doesn't feel right.  I can't get the ideas out of my head and on to the page.  I just can't find my groove. 

Why is getting back into a routine so difficult?  Or is it just hard for me?  

What's that old expression:  use it or lose it?  Well, I think I may have lost all of mine:  (1) my rhythm, (2) my commitment, (3) my willingness to sit in front of the computer regardless of the weather.  Where did they all go?  I can blame this loss on a number of things: the sunny late-summer weather, the sunny late-summer weather that demanded I go outside and ride my bike, the sunny late-summer weather that kept me outside, on my bike, instead of inside cleaning the house, which could really use a good scrubbing, or at the computer where I should have been. And all of these would be true. But the only one that really counts, is Number Two.

Take today, for instance. My plan for the morning was simple:  take Nora Jane to school, then come home and start writing. Well, that didn't happen.  I took her to school at 8:45, it's now 10:16, and I am JUST sitting down at the computer.  Oh, I have been thinking about what I want to write.  As a matter-of-fact, the ideas have been flying fast and furious.  All through the dishes and the cleaning-out-of-the-fridge, the ideas flew.  Unfortunately, just thinking about writing doesn't put the words on the page.

So instead of writing, I went searching for my camera to take a few pictures for the blog.  Certainly that would prompt action.  But, this search took a little longer than planned because said camera wasn't where it should have been: in the desk drawer under the computer.  I found it, eventually. Right where I should have looked in the first place: in my underwear drawer.  Don't ask me why, but this drawer is where all my valuables, and anything I don't want to lose regardless of value, are stored.  Money, cameras, battery chargers, old jewelry, love notes from my family.  They're all here, tucked in safe among my socks and undies.  

Once the camera was located, though, I still wasn't ready to write, so I washed and folded a few loads of laundry, tried to figure out what we needed from the grocery store, what to have for dinner, and, which tomato sauce recipe I should use for this beautiful batch of tomatoes.  

Then I was ready.

And then Dave came home.  

But he's used to me sitting here, typing away.  So, as I write, he's sitting behind me enjoying his late-morning bacon and eggs and thinking, no doubt, about getting down to his shop so he can continue working on the new fork he's building for his new bike (that he's also building).

And Cooper is back in the window, right behind the computer.

And Dave is unhappy that Cooper is back in the window, right behind the computer, leaving cat hair all over the place.

Huh, maybe I am closer to finding my groove than I thought.

Keep on keeping on--

S-

A Blogger's Dream Come True

I received an email from my cousin the other day.  And her words touched my heart.  

She said, "I'm so glad you are back to writing on your blog.  I missed it."  

Ahhh.... A blogger's dream come true!

I guess one doesn't require a legion of readers, just one good, thankful one. 

Thank you cousin!

I HEART YOU

Parenting 101: Dealing With Vegetable Haters

So, how do you get your vegetable-hating nine-year-old to eat her zucchini?

Easy.  You just hide it deep inside a chocolate cake.

To do this, you simply shred it, mix it with a little sugar, cocoa powder, applesauce, a few eggs, a handful of other dry goods, and then bake at 350 until done.

Easy breezy.

Of course, by utilizing this sneaky strategy, we mothers realize that we have to throw our healthy eating habits to the wind and ignore the fact that there is, basically, no nutritional value in said zucchini at this point.  Instead, we must look to the bigger picture.  However, if you follow this advice, and if your vegetable-hating children are anything at all like mine, not only will they eat said zucchini, but upon arriving home from school, they will even proclaim "Mom, you should have seen how fast that cake disappeared at lunch today!  I had to hide it from C--- while I ate it!"  (And, yes I take praise and compliments, aka the bigger picture, anywhere I can get them.)  

Be warned, however, if your vegetable-hater discovers the recipe for chocolate zucchini cake on your computer, like mine did, there will be upset.  There will be disgust.  Assertions may even be made against your character (but just little ones, about being a trickster). So do not despair.  After a sufficient amount of time has passed, time spent staring at said cake, I guarantee your child, like mine, will give into temptation and eat their veggies.

Apparently, Today Was a Good Day in Room 8

Before I even got to ask her what she did at school today.  

Before I even asked her how her day went.  

Before I even got to say anything, Nora said, "Mom! we did science today! We're doing mixtures and solutions!  And sometime, I don't know when, we get to use citric acid!"

I, then, said, "Cool!  That sounds very dangerous!"

The gigantic, ear-to-ear grin she was wearing, however, told me that she welcomes the danger. 

Back to Normal

School started today. So, once again, life is back to normal.

Anna is back in Bellingham, settling into her new (very old) house on High Street.

Nora Jane is back at Downing Elementary, a proud member of the fourth-grade crowd.

Dave is back at work, and I am here, at the computer, looking at a screen that looks completely strange and foreign in all of its whiteness. Just as my girls will be adjusting to their new roles at school, I, too, will have to readjust to my life, my quiet life, my writing life. The life I stayed away from all summer. Because it was summer. Because it was time to be a family.

It was time for bike riding,

and boating.

It was time to barbecue, and go camping. It was time to stay up late, and time to sleep in. It was time to be mom without distraction. And it was time to say goodbye to my best boy Jack.


But now summer, in all of its glory, is over. And, boy, will I miss it!  Just as I will miss Jack. And Anna and Nora. For unlike the cashier at the grocery store, who said to me last week, "it's time. They're sick of me and I'm sick of them." I will never be one of those moms who can't wait for the first day of school. Time just goes by too quickly to think like that.

So, although I will miss summer, I welcome Fall. For Fall brings new things; rainy soccer games, pumpkins, and running trails that are calling me home. But not today. Today, for Nora, I am baking chocolate chip cookies and making macaroni and cheese for dinner. But, for Dave, it will be home-made. Not from the blue box.

Sorry Nora.