• How many date pits can I find on the floor of the kitchen before I am morally required to call the childrens’ schools to warn them of potential after effects?
  • While in line at the baker’s (the one who makes special muesli bread for my little half-Germans) may I now begin quietly weeping at the thought of leaving them, or do I need to wait until closer to our mid-June departure?
  • If we are not invited to the Father’s Day party at Frida’s school, why was the request to bring snacks ADDRESSED TO THE MOTHERS? (Let’s be real, though – Tobias’ wealth accumulation project takes him 50-70 hours per week. I’ll be the one making the pretzels.)
  • And when I made the snacks, decorated the informational placard listing ingredients, packed them in a handsome box and surveyed the somewhat scraggly results, my first thought was, “Wow, Bets, don’t quit your day job.” But I can’t! Can I?



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