Littleman and I arrived back in TX last night. For the record, falling into Papabear's arms at the airport is all the home I'll ever need. However, the moment I walked into my kitchen it was like slipping into a warm bath or pulling on my old fleece robe. I love that every nook of our home is filled with warmth, coziness, and love...a lot like my dad's house in Arizona. I never feel like a guest there, always a part of the family. (Thanks guys, we miss you so much already!)
My childhood equipped me with the ability to feel at home nearly anywhere I go, though. All the trips to Norway, my parents' travels, camping trips, and the divorce, had my brother and I sleeping all over in all sorts of beds. I didn't mind it much (I'll admit, when I was a teenager it was sometimes frustrating). Still, I didn't really know any other way. When I was nineteen, I was in line at 6am for standing room only tickets for RENT, only to have to wait until 8pm for the show. By three in the afternoon, my friend and I were exhausted. I took her to the Museum of Natural History, parked ourselves in the dark corner by the giant squid exhibit on the lower level, and I slept, like a baby, for nearly two hours.
Most of you who read this have had me in your home. In case you didn't know, I felt like I was at home with you. It's pretty hard to alienate me. Pretty much a smile makes a place homey in my opinion. Good food is always nice, hugs even better, comfy couches and I'm in heaven.
I wish all of you a warm, cozy holiday filled with love and laughter, where ever you might rest your head at the end of the day.
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