In no particular order: peanut butter that isn't from the commissary. Sunday paper. My sister. Fall leaves. A bathtub that fills fast. The sound of the dishwasher. A local library with a children's section.
Things I don't miss: the commute. Everything else is close.
Birthday party in the garage (it's the biggest room we have): fourteen kids, nine Iradi and five American, balloons, a pinata that took fifteen minutes to break because they were all too polite to hit it first. Chynara's sister brought a cake with a horse on it, made with icing and a lot of patience.
I'll never forget the sight of eight-year-olds in kalpaks and cowboy hats, shouting in a mix of two languages, running under a pinata. They didn't need translation.