in others.
I stopped trying to be the mother who prevented every difficulty.
He stopped treating my help as part of his household infrastructure.
The new kitchen became my favorite room.
I cooked less there than in the old one, which made me laugh. Apparently, the reward for finally buying beautiful countertops was discovering that soup and a sandwich made a perfectly respectable dinner.
My farmhouse sink stayed gloriously free of other people’s casserole dishes.
The stand mixer remained exactly where I left it.
That summer, Susan and I flew
