H is for…

His for home. It’s that place in which you live. The walls, the windows, and the roof that keep you safe. It’s where you come to rest after a long day of work. Where you wake on Saturday mornings when anything is possible. Perhaps yours is overrun with kids or pets or both. What we’ve come to learn in wisened years is that it’s not how big your house is, but the family that’s in it. 

Our home is where we feel safest. It’s our harbor, our hangar, our underground garage. We can let our hair down (if we happen to have some). We can wander around in our pajamas, or our underwear, or our birthday suit. It’s where we lay our head and sleep easy. 

It’s also the place that gets wrecked, especially if you have kids. Laundry, dishes, dust, and endless amounts of dirt. When the kids start running the walls get scratched and dinged. Fingerprints cover every surface and there are noseprints on the windows. Clothes cover the floor in their haste to come off our weary bodies. Or just because our kids are too lazy to walk another 4 inches to put them in the hamper. Nevermind the mess. It just means life is being lived. It’s a home that is lived in, not a museum.

Our home is where we can let loose the chains of inhibition. We can truly dance as if no one is watching. Even if the kids are giggling relentlessly. We sing our hearts out like we’re on Broadway or the Grand Ol Opry or in the shower. We are free to laugh until our faces hurt, fully belly laughs, until we’re out of breath and tears rolls from ours eyes. I’ve written before about how our kids are angels in school. We’re sometimes not sure the kid’s teacher is talking about the right kid. When they’re at home, they are safe, they are loved, unconditionally. They are free to let tempers fly, test the boundaries of attitude and behavior, and free to be their whole and total self.

Sometimes it’s not as simple as where you live. A couple years ago, when I was last at my parents, I wrote about having two homes. I feel blessed in being able to call two places home. There is here where I live with DW and Crash and Bang. There is also where I grew up 1,100 miles south of here. In this instance, home isn’t a house or a building, it’s the place we grew up. It’s the place where we have loved ones, fond memories, and we can always return to.

Whether you keep your home hospital clean or dorm room dirty, or just tidy enough to pass as clean, it is your space. It’s the smuges on the walls, spills on the floor, dishes in the sink, and the laughs in the living room that turn a simple house into a home. Hang your hat, hang your heart, sing loud, dance proud, and let your home be lived in.

~ Maya Angelou

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13 thoughts on “H is for…

  1. My house is def not a museum,lol and I’ve stains and crayons on walls to prove it. My house is not spotless, it’s our home it’s called we’re living in it, dishes maybe piled, clothes need washed or folded, floors needs vacuumed, never a dull moment cleaning my house or living in it.

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