As an American mom in my forties, I still remember driving past the house on Elm where my neighbor pinned a paper rocket to her front window and my younger son would press his face to the glass, certain it could lift him to the moon. Weeknights these days are quieter but full of routine: school projects spread across the kitchen island, soccer practice pickups, and bedtime stories that end with my daughter asking about constellations. Neighbors drop over with muffins, and the kids trade LEGO models like tiny engineers. Those small rituals have made me want our home to…