Thursday, November 20, 2014 Heshvan 27, 5775

I made my first attempt at cooking brisket for our Rosh Hashanah dinner this year, aiming to create a recipe that would bind to my sons' memories of the holiday just like my late aunt's brisket is bound to my own.  

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This week, I got a triple dose of my youngest son's yetzer hara, the evil side of his impressive iron will. 

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I often swap terrible mothering tales with my friends, mostly to receive kind reassurance that I am not, in fact, Medea. But why are we so much more reluctant to share the stories about when we do something great?

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Musings of a Modern Balabusta

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