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There are currently eight chairs at my dinner table, but at least once or twice a week some little someone rolls an office chair or two or three in and joins us. I may be the mother of many, but I am no Betty Crocker or Martha Stewart. (Ask my husband how well I could cook when we married. No, don’t.) Most days, I would be content to make a sandwich or pour a bowl of cereal. Many days, I wave the white flag and Romeo comes in with Papa John’s. I get it right and go all out other days.
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