The ambulance revved up. “We’re trying your husband constantly,” a kind EMT reassured me. “And we’ve got an emergency team waiting at the hospital”
Here’s a piece of trivia you’ll never have to use: The first family Chanukah party I attended was my in-laws’ family party the year I got engaged
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled. I sat down again and stirred my tea. “You think I’m an awful person. Sitting here on an all-expenses-paid vacation, complaining. How greedy, right?”
I’m in survival mode, using every ounce of energy to keep my house running, have supper on the table and clean clothes in the drawers
It was the afternoon preceding the first night of Chanukah, just a few hours to go until a very eager seven-year-old would light an oil menorah for the first time ever. His excitement couldn’t be contained, and the acoustics in my house — or my brain — just weren’t made to handle this level of exuberance. I
