I have had 30 different homes.
I’ve lived with my mom and dad, my sister, dogs, cats, fish, roommates that became friends, boyfriends that became husbands, husbands that became fathers and two adorable children.
It doesn’t matter how many addresses I’ve had, they say home is where the heart is and they’re right.
Home is also where I can drink cereal milk straight from the bowl, remove my bra, pile my hair in a messy bun on top of my head, stay in jammies all day on Sunday’s and collapse into a bed where I know I’ll get a good night sleep.
Home is where every sound is familiar and comforting; my husband’s keys in the front door, Lola talking quietly in her crib, airplanes flying overhead starting at 7AM.
Home is shelter, a safe haven and a soft place to land, relax, live, eat, laugh and enjoy a glass of Cabernet.
I asked Lucas what home meant to him and he said, “my blanket, my room, and the people in it.” Perfect.
Today is the second anniversary of our family living in our current home, a house we patiently waited to be built. Lucas and I drove by it so many times leading up to our move-in date and just stared, both of us imagining our lives within its walls and under its roof. I took pictures of the progress and we talked about the life we’d make here.
Two years and so many memories.
I love my house but it’s the people I share it with that make it my home.
Dorothy was spot-on: There’s no place like it. As we journey through life―dodging the occasional wicked witch―it’s comforting to know that a cozy bed, loving arms, and perhaps even a Munchkin or two await, just across the threshold. – Real Simple