I've been reliving some of my earlier mothering days this week, chauffeuring my concussed son to and from PT appointments, to his umpire workshops, to the light rail station. I'd forgotten how those rides in the car provide a quiet space for conversation, and as R. is particularly taciturn, I'm always amazed that he actually converses when he's the passenger.
While waiting while he was at PT, I found a French bakery that I'd driven by probably hundreds of times yet never paid attention to — stunningly beautiful and delicate petits fours and cake slices that look like they're fresh off Avenue des Champs Élyéees. Pricey little morsels, but what a great treat.
And then there's the ride home along Lake Washington Boulevard — whitecaps on the lake and the sun flaring out from behind cumulus clouds. Nothing budding out yet, but it's all there, on hold, ready for the shift into a new season.