The comforts of home

Home is where the heart is (Photo credit: countrykitty)

I am a home body; always have been, probably always will be.  I love to be at home.  Some folks immediately throw those of us who feel this way into the “boring” category and that is quite alright.  Like I’ve said before, one of the wonderful things about my forties is being superbly comfortable with myself and my decisions.

In the early mornings, I love the solitude. the quiet times with my bible and my coffee, knowing the ones I love are sleeping peacefully and safe and secure.  As the house begins to come alive I love the way they need me for something; the missing shoes, the sandwich for lunch, that one shirt that just has to be worn today, the signature for school.  After the chaos when all is quiet again, after some time has passed, I miss them.

In the afternoons I delight in being here when they come home, hearing the front door open and either, “Babe” or “Mom” called out.  I love knowing that either of them are going to come find me wherever I am, my husband for a hug and my daughter to tell me about her day.

In the evenings, I enjoy the talk and laughter (there is usually plenty of that around here), and the winding down from the day.  I relish in the dinner shared, the stories told, the shows we enjoy watching together.

And at bedtime,the goodnights and I love you’s and the, “Mom, don’t forget to wake me up!” (like I haven’t been doing this for years).

Yes, I love home and everything that it means to me.  I rejoice in knowing that my family looks at this home as a place of refuge, somewhere they can run to when life is throwing its inevitable punches.  Home really is where the heart is and I am so appreciative that my mom taught me how to make a house a home.