As I lay here in bed, light from the eastern morning sun is gleaming in through the curtains of my room. My daughter is snuggled up close, breathing quietly, wrapped in her pink forest animal blanket that she burrows in while she sleeps. In the next room over, my son sleeps with a mountain of stuffed animals, his constant companions in the night. My husband left for work early this morning. He didn't quite beat the morning sun, as I could see him in the first rays of light getting ready for his day and leaning over to kiss me goodbye. And so I lay here, in the peace and quite, thinking and pondering the stillness, the coolness of morning, and the beauty of light. We have lived in this dwelling, this house, for over a month now. While it has been a wonderful month, it has also been so imperfect and marked by stress that, in moments of frustration, I have already wished this house away more than once. The hypocrisy of that fact is not lost on me. The woman who would be happy if only she had a house, standing in a house wishing it gone. But that was only a couple days, and for the vast majority of these days I have been happy, so very happy. I have been home.
Last night marked the first time that Lawrence, now 2-years-old, called this house home. He was looking at some library books and I was anxious to get him to Nilla's house so I wouldn't be late for class. He had told me he was looking at a book several times and I told him he had to come. He lifted up that voice like a lion and roared, "I staying HOME!" And then my heart melted and all my frustrations fled and I asked, "Is this house home?" Without looking at me he answered, "Yes," and kept reading. Until last night, this house was "new house" and our former apartment was "home." When we would leave anywhere he would asked me if we were going home or to the new house and I would gently tell him that new house is our home now. But my words could not persuade him. Home was home and new house was simply new house. When the word "home" came from his lips, it was as if my whole idea of this house changed. The moving dust finally settled and my heart relaxed into these walls. This is our home. The place where we gather together. Our home base for life. We go from here. We come back to here. This is home for all of us.
To my mama heart, this place could not be home until it was home to my little boy. Those words off his tongue were like the king's seal, the official word, the commencement of our days here at home. These walls will hold many tears and laughs. Many stories will be lived and told. This house will grow us and watch as we grow up. This is home. We start here.
