We moved into this house four months ago, with a mantra of, now we’ll be home more. Now we’ll cook and bake more. Now we have a house we love so we don’t have to run, run, run.
Except, life gets in the way and suddenly one boy has a baseball game and one girl has a class presentation and another child has something entirely different. And so we go, wanting our children to have opportunities and chances.
Last night, we had our first backyard barbecue. The Sonos speakers on the patio proclaimed our music choices as the sun set behind the trees.
The hot dogs and hamburgers grilled up nicely, alongside the corn cobs. The salads I’d made before walking to the neighborhood pool were spiced right and plentiful.
We sat with the adults around our wooden table, sipping our wine or beer, laughing at conversational interludes, happy in the presence of wonderful people.
The kids, around their long table, ate and ran, ate and ran. Basement, front yard, climbing a tree, backyard. Eliana brought her viola out to play alongside Aaron’s banjo. The little boys “excavated” around the garden patch.
All the children balanced on the brick wall at the back of the yard as night set in. We lit the fire pit and flames licked at the night sky. We went to bed smelling of campfire smoke, a favorite smell, igniting so many memories.
It is good to be home. It is good to stay where we have chosen, to wander around the rooms of a house we love and settle into the window seat with a really good book. (It’s called Fieldwork by Mischa Berlinski.)
We invited friends and they came. We talked for hours until the little boys were falling asleep draped over their mothers.
We finally know what it feels like to be home.
Truly home. No need to run. Just to be, to stretch out on the dark brown couch and relax into the knowledge that home is the place you want to be and you don’t have to leave it unless you want to.
Since we moved in, there have been mornings I just don’t want to go to work because I want to stay here. I want to sip my coffee and use the computer beside windows that overlook my yard and see the sunrise out the front over the golf course.
I go when I have to, but now I can finally stay. It gives new meaning to the concept of home, really, a place to rest your head, a place where you belong, a place you constantly want to come back to.
When other parents ask if my children go to overnight camp (which I did and loved throughout my childhood), I shake my head and explain, my children just like to be home in the summer.
And I finally know exactly how they feel.