The sweetest four letter word in the world. Right?
And “home” means just about as many different things as there are people in this world.
For our family, it’s this red brick two-story place that holds all of our prized possessions.
Our holidays and birthday parties.
Where we’ve played games and cards, assembled puzzles, shared iPod playlists, and colored with crayons.
Snuggled watching movies, a stoked fire in the hearth.
Homework completed at the kitchen counter late at night; grumps waking for school the next day.
Bickering. To. No. End.
“Home” always has its arms open wide like a giant hug, doesn’t it?
And the definition changes when the kids go away to college.
Home then means:
“Is it okay that I brought my laundry with me?”
I say, “No problem! I’d love to wash five loads of filthy, stinky clothes for you and, hopefully, your sister brought home ten more! Because I LOVE LAUNDRY!”
And the can of worms is opened wide…
“Will there be leftovers for me to take back home?”
I say, “Of course there will be because I’m planning to cook all your favorite foods in abundance before your arrival. Actually, I’ve been preparing for days!”
“Thanks for dinner, Mom. What’s our plans for breakfast?”
AND “Can I have my friends over for a few hours, ‘cause I haven’t seen them in a long time? We’ll be quiet.”
“Can we go shopping? But if you don’t have time, I could just take the credit card.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you wanted to see me. I made plans. How ‘bout lunch tomorrow but after noon ‘cause I’ll need to sleep in…if that’s okay.”
When the weekend is over, squeezing them and nuzzling their necks, I think, “You smell sooooooo good.”
And your heart breaks when they say, “I have to be ‘home’ by 6:00. Can lunch please be early?”
Home means here.
Where I sit and wait for them.
Or so they think….