I always worried and wondered what sort of mother I’d be. I’m a little impatient — make that very. Multisyllabic words are my favorite kinds, and I have a low tolerance for mindless stupidity (which is the Webster definition of children, right?)
“Why does your family ruin every simchah by dredging up the past?” he asked. “Why do you insist on making every celebration into a Holocaust memorial?
I inhale, trying to escape the horror in my mind. It’s too dark, and within the prism of reality, there is no relief. It really happened
Was my child the only black-and-white thinker in the class who would be devastated when a gold-laden structure failed to descend from Heaven?
