It is less than twenty-four hours into my daughter’s visit and things are tense. My stomach churns as I begin to fear our next ten days together. I had high hopes for this visit.
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cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
It is less than twenty-four hours into my daughter’s visit and things are tense. My stomach churns as I begin to fear our next ten days together. I had high hopes for this visit.
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Jumpy. That’s how I felt—like a skittish deer who thought she could make a break for the other side of the freeway, changed her mind at the very last second, and leapt back from the road to narrowly avoid a semi truck.
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