My friend was asking me about if I felt this place was “home” yet.
What is a home? Really?
Her answer was that it was a place where you felt you knew all the ins and outs of the house.
Given the work we’ve done and that yet needs to be done on this house, that will take quite a long time!
But, to me, that doesn’t make a place a home.
I feel “at home” when I know how to get from *some place* to my house via more than one route. (So that, should they close the main route to my house, I can still get there.)
I feel “at home” when my family is there. (Even if that means I know I’ll find dirty socks in the middle of the living room floor. EVERY DAY.)
I feel “at home” when friends and family come to visit, and don’t care that my house isn’t spotless.
I feel “at home” when I have local friends that I can spend time with and share our life with.
So, I guess, right now, I’m feeling “at home”.
But speaking of “home”. Why is it that such a “comfort” is affliated with such horrid terms.
I was working in the garden the other day with my 4 assistants (my two youngest guys and the two neighbor girls). We were having a blast. Never in a million years would I have ever said gardening was fun — or so I thought. But we were indeed having fun and I attribute it all to the company.
At the end of the gardening day, though, I told the kiddoes that I had “homework” for all of them. You should have seen their faces fall!
It was interesting, as I kept thinking to myself, that these are all kids that have homeschooled from the beginning. Why would they hate the word “homework”? It really didn’t make sense.
But, as it turned out, they were very happy to comply with their assignment. (planting seeds in peat pots)
Yet, my kids grumble every day over doing school. It gripes me. It gripes me, because when they are actually doing it, they are fine. They make comments like, “this is my favorite book,” or “grammar is so interesting,” or “did you know?” But, man when I say, “it’s time for school,” I have to put up with at least 5 minutes of grumbling.
What causes me the most grief then is the thought of, “Why can’t I be like Ms. Frizzle?” Why can’t I make school an adventure in learning?
Of course, when it comes time for housework I grumble inwardly not only the 5 minutes before but the entire time during as well. There can even be adventure in cleaning. . .but that’s never fun or exciting. The person who invents a self-cleaning house will be greatly loved by all, I can assure you!