I know I've been Home when...


my car looks something like this...

the result of snow and ice making a red dirt road very, very muddy.

Home is exactly where I've been recently. Actually, Jake and I made a very spontaneous trip there this past weekend. I decided on Friday night that we would leave just as soon as we could get packed, ready and on the road Saturday morning. We planned to spend the night and come back to T-town some time Sunday afternoon.

I love trips like this because they are "just because." Just because I was missing my family...just because Jake wanted to see his Gwanma and Paw Paw...just because we wanted to see if they still had some snow on the ground at their house (okay, not really)...just because we had nothing else planned.

We made the trip home this past weekend so we could do things like finish buying birthday supplies for Jake's party we'll have this coming up Saturday, play games (Spinners, to be exact), watch the Winter Olympics together, take pictures of my niece in her extremely stylish cowgirl boots, and share a super scrumptious steak dinner courtesy of my dad braving the cold temperatures to grill them for us.

Home is where I come back to center. It's where I'm reminded of what makes me who I am today. When I'm there I remember things like co-sleeping with my sister until I was 13 (embarassing, I know), listening to music my parent's didn't allow us to while they were at work during the Summer, riding horses and go-carts, Sunday School party bonfires, getting in trouble for staying out too late, Christmas', birthdays.

It gives me a great feeling...to go Home...and an even greater feeling to come back here...to my Home. My husband definitely puts it best when he says, "Home is wherever we are", and I have always found that statement to ring true. He and I together have moved almost more times than I have fingers to count on, but I can't think of a time when either of us felt homesick. It didn't matter that our address was not the same or that we were no longer living in a particular house or with our families...we were there...our stuff was there (furniture, pictures of us)...things that made a house our home were there.

Of course no matter how old I get or where life takes us, I will always call my parent's house "Home" because it's where I grew up...it's where my roots are. But even though I miss "Home" and go there as often as an opportuntiy presents itself (like this past weekend), it will still nothing quite like my home...

because (as Jim says) it's where we are.

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