I wait a beat for my friend to concede her error, to say the words, “You were right.” I will not gloat, I tell myself sternly
There lay the most wonderful gift I could ever have imagined, far better than any nosh or stickers or even a lolly
The braid is immortalized behind the glass protecting the mounds of articles left behind by oh, so, so many. Way too many
My husband, wide-eyed, can’t believe how I get it all done, and I just smile and bask in his pride
I still have so much to learn, so many basic facts left to garner until I can be a Real Mother
Don’t mistake me. I enjoy seeing new places and different cultures. I just can’t stand the means of getting there
You may look back on the year and wonder, what difference did I make? Whose life did I touch? And will anyone remember?
My home thrums with the energy of joyful music, wooden spatulas drumming on my garbage can, and the thumping of sneaker-clad feet
On Pesach, Chumie counted Sefirah, on a transcendent Leil Shimurim she medically shouldn’t have lived to see. And the next night. And the next
Yom Tov ends, and it was beautiful, meaningful, but secretly, I look forward to routine and peace and hosing down the mess and sterilizing the premises