home is where the heart is

Home is the little things . . .

Making poached eggs in our "egg poach-in-ator."
(Charlie's term a la Dr. Doofenshmirtz on Phineas and Ferb) 

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Scrambling to find uniform skirts and matching pairs of Tom’s at 6 o’clock in the morning. 

Carpool, soccer practice, piano, homework, and dog walking.

Building forts and family dances in the kitchen (to everything from Vanilla Ice  to Asleep at the Wheel). 

Baking cupcakes.

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Putting loose change in the “LEGO Death Star” wish jar.

Marathon talks with Ellen (while we play ping pong).

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Working on my Project Life albums. This is my new creative joy!

School projects.

Nightly tuck-ins that sound like this:,

Steve: “Good night. I love you. Hand me your iPad.” 
Me: “What iPad?.”
Steve: “Brené, you’re hiding your iPad under your pillow. Hand it over.” 

But mostly, home is . . . 

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Feeling loved not despite my vulnerabilities and imperfection but because of them.

Always knowing there’s a place where I belong. No matter what.

Never needing to shrink or play small when I’m proud of an accomplishment and never needing to puff up when I’m struggling.

What's home to you?