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Sleeping Late on Sundays

(by Liz Susman Karp)

I used a fork to mix milk and egg together in a rimmed soup bowl, recklessly dotting the liquid with vanilla extract before combining the ingredients. Next I added a slice of bread to soak, well on my way preparing the first dish I ever cooked: French toast. I always liked how the square piece of bread neatly fit in the round bowl. It’s a vivid memory, from the time I was nine or ten.

While the bread soaked, I crept upstairs to my parents’ room to whisper in my mother’s ear that I was going to turn on the stove. That was the biggest deal to me because she trusted me to use the stove on my own, and I felt quite mature.