Pulling my suitcase up the front steps of my house last night, I paused and breathed in the most glorious air of familiarity. Home. My favorite place in the world.
The place where I do life.
A land of missing hamsters, brace faced teens, homework posters, dented cars, wood eating squirrels, a shotgun toting husband and more dustbunnies than I care to admit. Where conversation abounds, tears are shed, frustrations aired, and laughter swells to fill in the gaps of our crazy life.
This is the dream of my heart.
So, after all is said and done, the thrill of my day is scampering back to the square little place we've staked out in the world. This place where my people gather each night with an amazing sense of belonging.
This place where it's okay to wear ragged out jeans, no makeup, and forget I even own a brush.
With all its beautiful imperfections, this is my place. My home.
The place where I do life.
A land of missing hamsters, brace faced teens, homework posters, dented cars, wood eating squirrels, a shotgun toting husband and more dustbunnies than I care to admit. Where conversation abounds, tears are shed, frustrations aired, and laughter swells to fill in the gaps of our crazy life.
This is the dream of my heart.
So, after all is said and done, the thrill of my day is scampering back to the square little place we've staked out in the world. This place where my people gather each night with an amazing sense of belonging.
This place where it's okay to wear ragged out jeans, no makeup, and forget I even own a brush.
With all its beautiful imperfections, this is my place. My home.
Home