There have been many perks to marrying into Chris’ family. High up there is his mom’s cooking. As I’ve mentioned before, I took the “This isn’t how my mom’s tasted…” comments early in our marriage in stride. Primarily because I was trying to achieve exactly that – her recipes – because they taste so good. I did not grow up with a casserole menu. I grew up on the soup pot menu – got a few things, throw them in a pot and hope for the best because that’s what mom made for Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday…
The sun is low. Babies are jammied.
Wheels of the parenting wagon are squeaking, slowing wobbling,
willing them to carry until bedtime.
Fire smoke has perfumed hair during memory filled dinners ’round a fire pit
The night is twinkling indecision –
the dusk yawns.
Summer is giving way to autumn.
Mothers hush this quiet whispering and will night to fall.
For although thankful for sweet days that begin at dawn and end at dusk,
it is time to give way to autumn’s promises of cool nights to come.
Good idea: Locking your bike up at the library so as to not entice anyone struggling with “theft challenges”.
Bad idea: Locking your bike up at the library so as not to entice anyone struggling with “theft challenges” and learning that person might be you.