“Your sister’s family gets the guest room. Your kids can sleep on the floor.” Mom tossed two sleeping bags at my six-year-old. My sister laughed. “Should’ve booked a hotel.” I looked at my children kneeling, whispered, “Pack your things, babies,” and we left at 11 p.m. Three days later, Mom discovered what I quietly canceled.

“Lauren, honey, I hate to ask, but the gymnastics tuition is $280 a month, and Ashley just can’t swing it right now. Could you help? Just until she gets on her feet.”

Just until she gets on her feet.

That phrase could have been Ashley’s autobiography.

I signed into the Maple Grove Gymnastics parent portal and added my credit card. Auto-pay.

Another line item on the spreadsheet I kept on my phone, not out of resentment, I told myself. Out of responsibility. I needed to know what I could afford.

Year three: the roof started leaking. Not dramatically. A slow stain spreading across the ceiling of the upstairs hallway like a bruise that wouldn’t heal.

Estimate from the contractor: $14,000 for a full tear-off and re-shingle.

I put down a $3,500 deposit. Jim, the contractor, was scheduled to start the Monday after Thanksgiving.

That same year, Ryan and I had planned to redo our kitchen in Rochester. New countertops. Better lighting. Owen was four and kept bumping his head on the cabinet handles that stuck out too far.

We postponed it.

“Next year,” I said.

We’d been saying next year for two years.