“Oh yeah,” you finally recall, “It’s the holidays. I’m at my mother’s house. In the basement that my parents converted into a family room in 1977. On the old hide-a-bed couch.”
“Oh yeah,” you finally recall, “It’s the holidays. I’m at my mother’s house. In the basement that my parents converted into a family room in 1977. On the old hide-a-bed couch.”
When I thought I was creating wonderful family traditions, I was really creating impossible family expectations that would come back to bite me in the holidays to come.
Our son, Hayden, had expressed an interest in playing Tuba after we PCSed to Germany. “Tuba? Really?” I’d wondered.
Would you be your own best friend?
“I wish I could meet someone more like me,”… “But then again,” I joked, as our car’s wheels climbed the east side of the bridge, “I’m not sure I’d be friends with me if I met myself on the street.”