I made a roast beef dinner for our friends a while back. Something from my upbringing causes me to cook 50’s dinners when wanting to especially impress company. I poured melted butter into potatoes and forked the carrots to be sure they were soft. I heard the door open and quickly checked the meat. To my dismay, it was nowhere near silky. It resisted my attempts of shredding and stared back at me like a rubber tire. The toddler who only wants to live on my hip started to whimper and I threw cheerios at her like she was one of those yappy dogs. I was stressed. I didn’t want…

My husband and I like change. After a few years in the same house, we tend to think, what’s next? Change on its best days can feel like a hot shower, a change of clothes, resolutions scribbled neatly on a crisp white piece of paper.  Not all change is created equal. We laid no welcome mat at the thought of our friends leaving.  We lived one rice paddy away from them and regularly traded sugar, eggs, and diarrhea meds. We also exchanged children for science experiments, extra Saturday morning donuts, and absurd tips for making chicken taste beefier. The daily dinging of our kids’ bicycle bells outside our gates signaled…