I didn’t plan on deciding anything this week.

Just came back for Easter,
    Big Mike solo @ Oscars,
    some family time,

    a front porch or two.

Ava’s been… herself again.

Funny, sharp.

Still somehow both twelve and almost grown.

I’ve been driving the backroads I used to live on,
    Letting Ruby hum the songs she remembers. (when Ava lets her come out to play)

And I don’t know—
    something settled.

Not loud.
Not sudden.

Just… settled.

I’m not shouting anything from the rooftops,
    But sometime soon—
          this summer— (July most likely)

    I’ll be back in DFW.

Not on vacation.
Not a layover.
Not “until I figure it out.”

Just… back.

Ava’s got one more year,

She's got so much going on,
          so much to figure out.

And she needs someone showing up. (not flying in)

It’s not about picking a place.
It’s about making a promise. (and keeping it)
It’s not a big deal. (except maybe it is)

With Ava headed into her Senior year,
    Her mom’s been…
    let’s just say…

    the kind of weather you can’t predict.

And sometimes being a good parent
    isn’t a bold gesture—

    it’s just showing up where you’re needed.

Not presents, but _presence_.

So I’m doing that.
Moving back to DFW.
Just like that.

I didn’t mean to make an announcement.
It doesn’t feel like one.

It’s more like:

A map redrawn with shorter lines.
A flight time cut in half.
A weekend trip that suddenly feels *possible* instead of *ridiculous*.

This doesn’t change anything. (well, not much)

If anything,
    it makes the map: smaller,
             flights: shorter,
            weekends: possible,
             excuses: fewer.

You in Atlanta.

Me in Fort Worth.

A straight shot.
A standing plan.

This is still slow,
      still steady,
    still a little bit frightening.

Still very much a little move.