
We recently returned from a longer than usual summer vacation. We spent a few weeks away from our New York City apartment, alternating between sets of grandparents. It was great for all of us to be outside most of the time, visiting relatives, being able to do things like pick and eat cherry tomatoes off the vine. The babe played and played, and I (thanks to ample family babysitting) got a lot of writing done. But at some point during the second week my daughter started saying she missed her home, her "little" bed, her toys. This shocked me. First, she's only two and a half so the idea that she would be homesick was surprising. Second, she was nestled so firmly in the bosom(s) of her family, with all sorts of new grandparent-gifted toys, not to mention cousins to play with, how could home even compare? But she insisted she missed New York. So I asked her what she missed the most. Her answer? Play dough.


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