Home, Home On the Range….

            I’ve been eaves dropping on a couple of mommies at the kiddie drop off; they’re building houses.  Their convos over the past several weeks have been about finishes and soffits, tile versus marble and window casings and sashes.  And what could I possibly add to these convos you might ask?  Well, I will have you know that I correctly spelled soffit without the need of spell check!

Ok, so Bob Villa and I are not the best of friends and the idea of building my dream home is about as plausible as me actually winning the Lottery.  Because frankly that’s what it would take for us to be able to do that.  Single income family, remember?  But I listen and nod sympathetically to their grass cloth wall covering plights and murmur my muffled comments about the pros and cons of hardwood and laminate flooring.  And I tisk and make other sympathetic noises as I listen to them talk about how incredibly crazy their lives are, living between two homes and trying to manage contractors. 

But this “house talk” got me to thinking about the home my family lives in.  We live in a three bedroom, one bath (I know, right?) split level whose decorating style I like to refer to as "Drunken Toddler".  I have no decorator; although I do have three “gorilla artists” who frequently tag walls and furniture.  We aren’t green. But after a very awkward convo with a teenaged checkout girl about everyone doing their part to save energy, I now replace my regular 47¢ light bulbs as they burn out with those really expensive ones.  And since I no longer bring in a paycheck we had to say goodbye to our I’m-sure-she-was-legal-Guatemalan-cleaning-lady-Lydia.  (My house hasn’t been the same since.)  So what are you, when your house is on the wrong side of the tracks and it isn’t stylish, green or even super clean? 

            My answer is Home.  When you come over, I expect you to put your feet up on the coffee table as you watch my children perfect their diving skills by jumping from said coffee table to the couch.  I will expect you to feed your sandwich crusts to my begging weenie dog, while brushing the crumbs from your lap and onto the floor.  I will expect you to laugh off the broken Mason jar "glass" and the ice tea stain spreading across my spotted area rug.  I hope that you will know, without asking, that red wine is welcome in ANY room of my house and that pizza in front of the TV means its Friday night. 
           Children run through my home with drippy sippy cups in one hand and cherry popsicles in the other frequently.  Dogs sleep on my couch when they think we aren’t looking.  And there’s probably enough snack crackers between the cushions of my couch to fill a Gold Fish box but you know what?  A nap on that “fishy” couch, with a weenie dog curled around your feet, on a blustery fall afternoon just may be the closest thing to heaven on this earth. 

Welcome Home!

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