Sometimes, I miss home. A lot. But not just home, not just my family, but simply, how it used to be. When this hits... I make tortillas. And of course, my tortillas don't come out nearly as round as my grandma's, but the girls don't mind. They love making their own, too, the way I used to when I was a kid.
The best part is for about an hour while I work on dinner, I can picture my grandma's hands kneading the tortilla dough; I can smell my great grandma's kitchen; I can hear my mom's and my sister's laughs as we all chatted at the table; I feel connected. Just for a little while.