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Back when Clay and I were a footloose, childless couple, we would sometimes witness a parent grappling with a grumpy/wailing/furious child. Was our response a warm, compassionate smile? Nope. Our response was a discreet high-five and a self-congratulatory grin. It's shocking, but it's true.

This weekend we were out on the town with Alice when we came across a couple trying to soothe their flustered child. I felt that terrible urge creep up my arm. I was going to go for it...the smug high-five. And then I stopped short, realizing the horrible truth: I was no longer eligible to make fun of struggling parents...because I am one!

Chilling. Positively chilling.

Alice is usually a very good baby when we take her out. Okay, so she had a bad habit of greeting people with a reverberating belch (or worse!).  But she usually is pretty laid-back in public. At home, however, she has a tendency to be a bit of a pistol from time to time. As she gets older, smarter, and more mobile, she will likely become more and more determined, er, spunky. She will likely drop her water glass at the local Shoney's. Or peep under the bathroom stall to greet the person beside her with a friendly "Hello!" Or become "unable to abide sound doctrine" at church and have to be walked around in the hallways, flirting with whoever she meets. How do I know this? Because that's exactly what I was like when I was a child. I can feel karma creeping up on me. It's inescapable. I shall live in fear of it until it finally arrives, bashing me over the head. My only hope is that Clay's squeaky-clean, well-behaved childhood will somehow make up for what I put my parents through. But, sadly, I understand sassiness is a dominant gene and saintliness is recessive.

The McKinney Family is excited to report that we are moving back to my hometown of Dickson! We close on April 15th and are eager to get settled into our new home. We are moving to a picturesque little neighborhood within walking distance of Luther Lake. Our new home is fantastic…adorable and roomy enough to accommodate our growing family. We will be a lot closer to Alice's doting grandparents, too. We are sad to be leaving our cute, "nicely crammed" house, but we are not sorry to be getting out of Fairview.

Let’s say you’re creating a coffee table book about the "armpit towns" of various Tennessee counties and you are looking for a representative for Williamson County. Look no further, the clear winner is Fairview. I hate Fairview. Always have, always will. It has all of the high cost of living without any of the charm, class or convenience. When I think of this town, I am forced to erupt into my rendition of Nanci Griffith’s "This Old Town Should Have Burned Down"...except without the affectionate chorus. This is the lamest dadgum town in the state. I never thought I'd say this, but Dickson is a swinging metropolis by comparison. Shoot, even Henderson (the West Tennessee wide-space-in-the-road where I went to college) is more hip than Fairview. A geographic anomaly, Fairview is 25 minutes from Dickson, Franklin and Nashville. Talk about "smack in the middle of nowhere." We got the first stoplight several months after Clay and I moved here. Fairview reminds me of those remote West Virginia towns I drove through on tour and wondered how or why anyone lived there. I know that after living in Dickson, I will look back on the four years I spent in Fairview and wonder how on earth I survived.

Dickson isn’t exactly "the city that never sleeps," but in the immortal words of four-year-old Grey Beaubien, "It’s really got everything that you need." Yessir, a veritable cornucopia of commerce. A Wal-Mart, a Goodwill Superstore, the pharmacy of your choice, reputable places to get your oil changed, and plenty of clean and competently-run eating establishments of all kinds. There is a Kroger, a public library, a state park, and a drive-in movie theatre just down the street from us. Not to mention the utterly winsome downtown area with a tea room, antique shops, and even The Grand Old Hatchery that features all the best local talent. A fine place to raise our family and hang our hats. Dickson, you’re the place for me. I’m coming home!