Been thinking about what home is lately, and what makes a home. And here is what it is to me:
It's wherever you are loved.
It's wherever you find yourself under a warm blanket.
It's when you are with someone who makes you laugh until you toot and then you both laugh even harder.
It's wherever someone makes you soup.
It's where there is a well worn scrabble board.
It's where random hugs happen.
It's where there is tender wisdom given.
It's where you can cry full on, and someone runs to hand you a Kleenex.
It's where warm cookies are baked whether you're on a diet or not.
It's where there is imperfect furnishings.
It's where there is a pot of coffee on often.
It's where there is more laughter than tears, and laughter through tears.
It's wherever "I love you" is said daily.
It's wherever you can put your hair in a scrunchie and slip into ratty sweatpants.
It's where a sense of humor is not optional.
It's where people can tell you truth, because they love you.
It's where someone will always have your back.
It's where someone gives good back rubs.
It's where someone says, "You're weird" after you act totally goofy and weird.
There are pets.
There are jammie days.
There is French toast.
It's where I can be my strange, disorderly, mischevious, flip-out, soulful, and messy self.
"Home" by Phillip Phillips