I have never lived in Maryland. My parents moved there a while after Brian and I were married. So explain to me why it is when I was flying over (mountains?) and cities and countryside, making my way to where my parents and sisters live, I felt like I was flying home?
It’s not to say that my little green house in Michigan doesn’t feel like home because it does. It’s my house with my clutter, and my dog and my husband and my children. My house doesn’t smell (why is it all other homes have some sort of odor, not bad necessarily, except our own?) it definitely feels like home (in fact I’ve never lived anywhere as long as I’ve lived here). But my parent’s house still feels like home I don’t understand it. It almost feels like a different kind of “home”.
Maybe it’s because I’m not in charge there. I get tired of having to make sure people are bathed and in bed. I get tired of being in charge of clean socks, and what’s for dinner, and bed times. It makes my brain tired. When I go to mom and dad’s I don’t have to be in charge of anything; I’m just along for the ride. I mean I make my bed and clean up my dishes and try to do my share of the laundry but it’s just different somehow.
Maybe it’s because it smells and looks like my home from my childhood. No matter where we’ve lived our house smelled good. No matter where we lived our house was always pretty and cozy on the inside.
Maybe it’s because my parents are there and my sisters. That’s where we laugh and talk and laugh and cry but mostly laugh. It’s where we walk down memory lane and look at old pictures and eat until we’re stuffed. It’s the place where we’re most likely to all be together.
Maybe it’s a combination of those things. What I know for sure is it feels good to be able to go home.