Saturday morning I was driving the winding roads out in Cy-Fair killing some time. I love driving out in nature and not being rushed. It's amazing that if you go just a couple of miles off 290, Cy-Fair feels like nature. Anyway...
I was thinking about the word home.
Growing up in a divorced home (since I was a baby), I was always living out of suitcase. Don't hear me complaining please. For a divorced home I had the best situation. My parents loved me (and Nils) and wanted to be active parts of our life. They had joint custody: meaning every couple of days back and forth, and every other weekend at each house. I had great relationships with all my parents.
But, I noticed a few years ago how I used to always use the terminology that I'm going to "Dad and Robin's house" or I'm going to "Mom's house." I never said, "I'm going home." Both were my homes (residents I resided in and felt safe and accepted), but neither was my one and only home-- one closet, one bed, one set of clothes, one blow dryer,... you get what I'm saying.
I longed for that for so long. I often envied those that didn't have to wear the same skirt (private school girl here!) to school the next day because they forgot to pack their uniform. To not have to pack a bag every day sounded like an amazing idea-- but completely unfathomable. I love change, but I love belonging.
Well on those winding roads on Saturday I realized, I am home. Now, with Chris, I am finally settled. One home. One closet (well I tend to have a few in this house!). One bed. One set of clothes. One blow dryer. Home.