I find myself waxing poetic today on many things. Maybe it's the recent cooler mornings giving me hope that there will be an end to summer in Phoenix. Maybe it's the impending birth of our 3rd child. Maybe it's even the fact that I just sucked down an iced coffee and I can feel it coursing through my veins like a racehorse. Literally, I'm smelling colors. It's glorious.
So today I mused on many things, but the one thing that stuck with me, running round and round in my dome was the concept of a house being a home. We spend so much of our time making our home presentable to the exterior world - hiding away the life we love behind closed doors and sanitized with Clorox wipes. But this life we live behind those doors is what makes the house a home. And I'm ok with that. After picking up Legos (Registered Trademark of course) for the millionth time, I couldn't even be angry or upset but rather tickled that this is my life. I am without a doubt being subjected by Karma to what I subjected my mother and father to as I had BUCKETS of Legos. I fear I am only at the tip of the iceberg as I stare at the small tub my kids have amassed so far. This routine, this life, the clutter and the necessary tip-toeing around certain foot-death (have you ever stepped on a Lego?) defines my home and our life. This is real living. My living room floor is a dance floor, stuffed animal graveyard, gym, running track, and chill zone. And it's rarely spotless. But it's ours. Much like the sticker picture you see above.
I put that picture up as another example. That sticker somehow made its way to our garage floor approximately 3 years A.O.B (After Owen's Birth). So for two years now, that little joker has been smiling back up at me with his toothy grin and witty charisma. And most days, I barely notice it. It's another part of the day-to-day and I likely step on his face more than I see it.
But then, there are days like today, where you pause, and reflect. This little guy came to be after Halloween. It takes me back to a Princess with a Tutu and an Owl; Tri-Tip on the grill, and a couple Brewskis. This little sticker is a link to my parents because they always visit on Halloween (a tradition of sorts which has become so much fun for the kiddos). And of course My daughter, Cora. Because it was her tiny little hand that so gently adhered this landmark to my floor.
So this tiny sticker, which most would overlook- comes dripping with memories. And that, to me, is what really makes a house a home. Not how clean, how organized, or how cute- but how many things trigger the recall of the history of your life and family in an instant.
What makes your house a home?
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