I live with my mom. Again.

There is a saying, "you can't go back home." It's a saying, probably because it's true. However, I am home again. We live with my mom as my husband begins his journey through seminary, and the short of it is, that without living with her, we'd be destitute. But my mom is about to turn 80, and being in the house with her is reassuring for all of us as we try to take care of one another. As the only daughter-mother combination in the house, I often feel torn.....today, mom and I fussed about a multitude of items which has left me weepy virtually all day, and I cannot come up with an answer to any of the questions. I love my mom dearly, but I find it difficult to be patient with her. We are caught in several Catch-22s: she needs us to help her out, yet she doesn't want to lose her independence. She wants to spoil our daughter, but at times is frustrated when our daughter will not listen to her correction. I work full time outside the house, and my mom worked full time inside the house -- and there are 40 years between us, but to her, there should be no differences in the way our lives are lived. And so, this is where we are: no answers, hurt feelings, tears, weariness.