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Two weeks later, we discovered the box labelled “kitchen, sharp knives” in the baby’s room, exactly where the movers had placed it.
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The earth didn’t move, exactly. The information in yesterday’s paper was incorrect.
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I carved my boy from balsa wood. Once the Blue Fairy worked her magic, he woke with a sneeze. The balsa wood allowed his body a softer texture, which also meant taking three times as long to carve. My boy would never tell a lie, never let himself be conned. He would never run away to join the circus, never fall into the belly of a whale, never need to be heroic and redemptive just to dig himself out of the complicated mess he’d made.