Buck Up

It is almost beyond my own ability to comprehend that I cannot seem to get to Nashville.  There is no job keeping me here.  The only thing I have on my calendar is therapy one day a week.  And yet, every single time I think a chance has opened up, something else arises that means I either can't go at all, or could speed up and stay for maybe 2 days before I'd need to get back here.  Briton has a show opening.  Hannah wants to come home.  Hannah has to come home for a doctor's appointment.  Briton can't look after the animals because of work and rehearsal schedules.

I am looking at the last week of April right now.  But I have a sneaking suspicion that will turn into the week that Hannah finishes school and will need help moving back.

I know, I know, all I need to do is put my foot down and say, "I'm going.  Work out your stuff on your own."

But it's hard to say that when you're a mom.

And when the thought of going back to that house ties your stomach into acid-soaked knots.


  1. How about "I'm the Mom and you're old enough to help out."? Maybe a foot stomp, too?

    I know all about the acid in the stomach. I feel guilty if I don't get to the house every other week...but I don't really want to go.


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