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
memories.
Our
photos.
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….
