Tears. Face in the floor. Sobs. “I just want to go home!” Every time. This was the heartbreaking saga that played out every time something fell apart, or didn’t go his way, or disappointed him for the first four or five weeks of living with my mother-in-law this summer. My poor little son. “We can’t go home, buddy. Someone else lives there now. It’s not our house anymore.” They aren’t exactly comforting words, but it was the best I had to offer. For some inexplicable reason in early May of 2020, as if COVID shutdowns and quarantines weren’t enough, my husband and I decided to sell our house. We’d bought…