home.

I have lived in Federal Hill for over 6 years now. Five of those years were in this house with Phil. I've always had a hate/hate relationship with the house. With the bad luck we've had it is a well deserved hatred. The closer we get to actually looking at other homes and putting this one on the market (if only we got rid of it before things needed fixing - now it's practically perfect), the more I start thinking about where I want our home to be.

This house hasn't really ever been my home. Mostly thats my fault. I didn't start to try to make it more homey until a few years ago and by then I had mentally moved out. I didn't stop to appreciate where we lived - in a great neighborhood that was safe, fun, close to parks, restaurants, and all the fun the city has to offer. I get it now. I like it here. I'm just ready for a home.


When I was in high school, my home burned down. My parents and I got out safely (as did our dog, thankfully), but we lost everything. It's the only place I had ever lived. After jumping out of my parents bedroom window, my mom and I stood on our front lawn staring, helpless, at what was happening to our home. Bright. Hot. Bursting. Bending. Gone. That was the last home I feel I've lived in.

The next thing I had to a home was my grandparents farm. Only a mile away, I spent nearly every day there growing up. Before I was old enough for school, my grandparents would watch me during the day. I'd bake cookies and secretly watch Oprah with Grandma.  Or we would spend the afternoon with iced tea feeling the breeze from the front porch swing. I'd ride with Pop Pop around the fields on his old honda motorcycle or in the pick-up to Enfield's. I would run to watch Albert the milk man come. In the winter Pop Pop would let me ride the snowmobile by myself around the field and he would always be watching, chuckling, and make me go another couple rounds if I hadn't hit 40 MPH yet. I never went fast enough. I'd wait for the school bus with Grandma. We would count the worms on the driveway if it rained the night before. We'd listen to Randy Travis sing "Forever and Ever Amen" on WPOC from the car if the rain hadn't yet cleared. She'd never let me get too wet. I'd play in the hay barn, or go to the calf barn and see the new life awkwardly learning it's way.

The farm has sold. And although it was a few weeks ago, I think my heart is still a little broken. I wish Sam could have spent the same years I was fortunate enough to spend there.

So I'm ready for a home. I'm ready to create the place where Sam will look back and remember things like I do from growing up. The more I think about it, the more I realize I have a home.

Bubba pulling himself up on the side of the tub for the first time. That is my home.

The annoyance on his face for trying to get him to crawl with fleece knees and hardwood floors. The dog hair covered, cloth diapered butt in the air when he finally sticks it. That is my home.

The giggles that come out of this mouth. That is my home.

The smashing of vases in the living room. That is my home.

The hungry, hungry mouth and the messy face it belongs to. That is my home.

The two buddies that wait with me for Daddy to walk through the door everyday. That is my home.

The eyes that search for Daisy and the smile that comes when he finds her. That is my home.

 

The tooth that finally broke through enough to see. That is my home.

Daisy sneaking upstairs to lay on my un-made bed. That is my home.

These eyes. UGH, these eyes. That is my home.

And most of all, the person who helped me make those eyes. He is my home.