This "We're never not going to leave Madison, right" This was my son, Charlie, age 3 at the time, speaking from under the hood of his stroller on a weekend walk. My husband and I looked at each other with confusion: Where was this sudden concern about moving coming from? We stopped and moved to the front of the stroller to find out what was going on, then we burst out laughing. Charlie's face was smeared with dark chocolate frosting and crumbs from the glazed donut he'd been silently gnawing since we'd made our ritual pit stop at Greenbush Bakery a few blocks back.
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