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Yesterday I had lunch with my mom crush. We shared a cubicle wall about two years ago. And across the gray partition she'd tell me about her daughters' school projects and birthday parties and her family vacations. She'd give me wedding advice and she'd always remember little details about my family, my cats, my life that I must have mentioned in one of our earlier conversations.

I miss sitting next to her. She's not only a treasure trove of mom wisdom, she's an inspiration. She and her family haven't fled for the suburbs. Hell, they haven't even high-tailed it to a neighboring borough. They live on 28th street. The kids share a small room; mom and dad are in a converted bedroom. The kids don't even want more space. She asked them about moving--about getting their own rooms. They refused. They love it.

See, it can be done.

(That's my ever-expanding mid-section pictured, fyi. I tried to blame it on Chinese food. Nate seems to think it may have something to do with a baby being in there, though.)
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