Wednesday, August 20, 2014 Av 24, 5774

When you find me in the bathtub in the fetal position, blathering incoherently about how slider storage bags are superior to zippered, you will know that making lunches finally broke me.

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I season my parenting vocabulary with a considerable amount of Yiddish. Because my kids aren't just crazy, they are vildechayas.

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Despite small progress over the years, my 9-year-old son still approaches food as if it will wake and stab him in the eyes. So what's a mom to do? 

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Musings of a Modern Balabusta

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