Wishing my family the slow, ordinary, repeatable joy of Hanukkah nights done right.
Fresh today · Tuesday, 30 June
New Wishes
A handful of wishes pulled from the cabinet this morning. Pick one up — copy, save it to your pinboard, or send it on.
Happy Hanukkah — may our family keep this tradition alive long after we hand it down.
May our menorah and our memories burn together this week. Chag sameach, family.
To family — may every candle this Hanukkah remind us we're never lighting alone.
Happy Hanukkah to the people I'm proudest to share a last name with. I love you.
She wishes he'd notice when she's quiet because something is wrong, not because nothing is.
↑ pick one up
Browse by occasion
What are we writing today?
Cabinets sorted by occasion. Open one — pages are arranged by warmth, not algorithm.
- Anniversary
- Baby
- Belated
- Best
- Birthday
- Boy
- Boyfriend
- Christian
- Christmas
- Congratulation
- Diwali
- Easter
- Eid Mubarak
- Engagement
- Farewell
- Fathers Day
- Friendship
- Funny
- Get Well
- Girl
- Girlfriend
- Good Morning
- Good Night
- Graduation
- Hanukkah
- Heart Touching
- Holiday
- Invitation
- Job
- Love
- Miss You
- Mothers Day
- New Year
- Recovery
- Retirement
- Romantic
- Thank You
- Thanksgiving
- Wedding
- Well
- Women's Day
- Sympathy
- Valentine's Day
- Halloween
- Veterans Day
More from today
She wishes he'd let her vent without trying to fix it inside the first thirty seconds.
She wishes he'd compliment the dress before the lighting changes back to neutral.
She wishes he'd ask about her day before launching into his — even on the bad ones.
She wishes he'd remember the names of her two closest friends and what they do for work.
She wishes he'd read the book she lent him, or admit honestly that he won't.
She wishes he'd send her one photo a day that has nothing to do with where he is.
She wishes he'd surprise her with the small thing, not the big gift she'd already mentioned.
She wishes he'd say 'I'm proud of you' on a Wednesday, when nothing in particular has happened.
She wishes he'd notice the candle is new, the throw is new, the small things she changed.
She wishes he'd ask 'what do you need from me right now' instead of guessing wrong twice.
She wishes he'd put his arm around her at the dinner table when her family is being a lot.
She wishes he'd remember the anniversary of the small things — the move-in date, the first trip.
She wishes he'd write her a short note, on actual paper, with no occasion behind it.
She wishes he'd be the one to plan the friend hangout once, just to take the load off her week.
She wishes he'd tell her she looks beautiful before the camera comes out, not after.
She wishes he'd listen when she rambles about something he doesn't care about — for ten minutes, no glances.
She wishes he'd compliment what she made — the dinner, the playlist, the rearranged shelf.
She wishes he'd ask 'how are you really' once a week, and actually wait for the second answer.
She wishes he'd be patient on the days she can't explain why she's tired.