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I wrote a list, then heralded the squealing children around the house as my husband joyously found one crumb after another

My house is a mess because I’m a messy person

It got me thinking: When does a foreign place feel more comfortable than your birthplace?

The solution was a mere few feet away. I just had to act on it

I’m about to toss the dough when something keeps me back. Is it maturity, or perseverance, or age or time?

Whenever I asked about their childhoods, my siblings gave me a “you had to be there” look. But on Purim I could pretend I knew something about it