There's no place like home, there's no place like home . . .

There's is no place like home . . . there's no place like home . . . Did I mention how much I love spending time with my daughter? I DO. More than anything in this world. I just want to wrap her up in a safe little package and bundle her home . . . to Oregon. But she has a life. She is happy and I accept that . . . most of the time.

Her job teaching is fulfilling to her. It is worthwhile and pays her well. She is surrounded by friends. She excels at dancing and participates in a local dance groups and has a new Cuban African Salsa class that she is involved in.

Erin has turned her love of photography into side work taking portraits and wedding shoots. She works as a camp councilor at a deaf camp every year and does meaningful work with those children. So what is my problem you might ask? I just wish she lived a whole lot closer. Or maybe just in a bubble. Even Dorothy found her way home. Maybe I will send her some ruby slippers just in case.