This week got me thinking about "home". We were on our way to Cedar Rapids where Tim and I grew up. Tim had appointments and we were going to spend time with Kiki and PePa. When we were 20 minutes out, I told Teddy we were almost "home.” He got confused and upset saying, “We’re not going to Kiki and PePa’s anymore?”
Home. To my son, home is in Norwalk, Iowa. To me, it’s still my parent’s house. I’m not sure when and if that will ever change. I usually refer to their house as "home" and even Tim has given me a questionable look when I've referred to it on recent trips.
Is there a point in adulthood when the home or city you grew up in no longer resonates as "going home"?
I have so much comfort at my parent’s house. I’m at peace and I feel completely, and utterly safe. The worries I sometimes have about motherhood, work, etc. go out the window. Don’t get me wrong, I love the life we have built in Des Moines, but there is always something nostalgic and wonderful about going "home".
For Example, M has a little cold right now and I always have a little anxiety when my kids are not 100% healthy. However, when I’m at home, my mind doesn't worry so much. I know it's a simple cold but I always feel my babies will be ok because I have my mom as back up to assure me if we need help or reassurance.
I love sleeping in a bed under the roof of where I grew up. I love when I borrow my mom’s hair dryer, I’ll open the drawer and see the same comb she’s had for 20 years. I love how the couches are worn and comfortable and I will fall asleep and take a nap no matter what time of day. I love the smell, the pictures on the wall, and most importantly the people. Everything about my parent’s home brings me comfort.
It’s a feeling I hope to give my kids someday. My wish is when they come home at Christmas break while away from college - or when they have their own families and visit (hopefully often), I hope they always feel like our house is their home, their comfort, their safe space. No matter what. Always.