When the tears had subsided and the body shudders had stopped, my daughter decided she would go back to her apartment and try to talk things out with her boyfriend. "Okay I said. I hope the two of you can resolve your differences." In the back of my mind I was thinking...it's just a matter of time before this relationship is kicked to the curb.
Three hours later, that prediction came true, when my daughter once again showed up on our doorstep...this time with suitcase in hand. Her intention was to stay with us for the rest of the week and see if she and her boyfriend could figure out how to get back on track again.
When my daughter moved out, I turned her room into my own private exercise room. The other bedroom, besides the master, is an office. I let her stay in our bonus room, which is where we have guests sleeping while they're visiting.
As she settled in, I went to take a longing look at my beloved exercise room. I knew in my heart that I would soon be emptying it out. My Twister, my Gazelle, my balance ball, my yoga mats, my medicine balls, my hand weights...all would have to find a new home. Sigh...oh hell...who am I kidding...I rarely used the stupid stuff anyway, so I gently closed the door and headed downstairs to make my daughter a cup of hot cocoa.
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