Life is a funny, busy, heartbreaking, joyful thing.  As I write this, I am sitting on the couch for the first time in a very long time.  Pablo is laying on the back of the couch, peering down over my shoulder and sighing sleepily.  He's felt it, too.  This month, this long May month, has been out of routine.  It's been out of my comfort zone.  There haven't been nearly enough nights spent eating ice cream and watching Netflix together (the preferred evening pastime in the Braley household). 

And yet, now here we are. With only a few weeks left of school and in between loads of laundry, we have found a moment to rest. And, as I slow down long enough to think a complete thought or two, I realize it's been a while since I have stopped to take stock of things. It turns out I'm more tired than I thought. And out of all the ways busyness takes a toll on the body and mind, I think the worst is its ability to make you drop what you love most so that you can accomplish more, more, and more. 

And the thing I have dropped is writing to all of you.  I need to get back to taking pleasure in the methodical measuring of ingredients.  I need to return to the creation of dinner being the main event, not just an annoyance which must be squeezed in and cleaned up so we can get somewhere on time.