No desert too hot or bleak, no car ride too long or uncomfortable, no road too rough. The vibrant color of fall is as a much an exclamation of nature’s love before winter as a mother’s trek over monotonous roads is a witness of her love for those too old for kisses all over their faces. I’ve seen the roadside decorations a million times before – the tallest thermometer in Baker, the glitz of Las Vegas from the highway, the Virgin River gorge with its many “alluvial fans.” If it were not for this trip, how many opportunities would I have to say one of favorite words? There’d be another day when I could use words like truncate, inundate, and concatenate (also favorites). I passed the scenic Utah entrance in St. George of blue, blue sky and windblown fluffy white clouds over red bluffs.
I don’t know if Hot Wheelz and Cheezy were looking forward to my visit or to old standby home cooked meals most. I got right to work until an unexpected appendage on the stove stopped me 
dead in my lasagna sauce — with the exception of my infamous blood curdling scream. Looks like my affinity to use Cutco carelessly is an inherited characteristic. Then, thank heavens, I realized it was an eerie bread dough Halloween treat from last week.
Cheezy and I took an afternoon matinee in, Toy Story III, a movie guaranteeing no embarrassing moments between mother and son (other than the fact that we 
paid for a G-rated movie). I was reminded of days gone by — push popcorn corn makers, Mr. Potato Heads, and the “turn coat” little pull toy telephone. Little green army men connected at the feet leaned and waddled just like three of my four children had when they’d worn corrective shoes attached by heavy duty metal bars to force pigeon-toed feet out. When one of them used the bathroom in the night, 
they’d hopped, lifting the five-pound bar. The GAP swayed her hips and swaggered, alternating each foot forward, and swung the large bulky apparatus around.
Hot Wheelz and I watched a late night movie, one of my favorites, City Slickers. You know how old you are when you hear Billy Crystal’s line to his wayward calf wandering in the rain, “Norman, who do you think you are Gene Kelly?” and you’re the only one in the room who gets what that means.
A few nights with my favorite guys and in parting, a token of a mother’s love. A pop-in-the-oven casserole dish of lasagna. Never again would I get a text from Hot Wheelz saying, “It’s weird not having leftover lasagna.”
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I’ve always remembered those corrective shoes. Clarissa is a little pigeon-toed. I don’t think they prescribe those things anymore. I remember spending the night with Jennifer and being quite bemused by her walking around in those.