Five minutes of free write on a given one-word prompt with Five Minute Friday. See more linked posts here.
I have this tendency to not notice when my home becomes my haven. Until I’m about to leave, I hardly notice how comfortable I’ve become, how familiar every little mark and quirk and smudge is to me.
I love this home we’re about to leave. I love that it’s largely gray and white, that nearly every wall has had splattered coffee on it from time to time. I love that we don’t notice the higher last step on the stairs. I love the deck, the yard, the grass, the garden. I love my room. I love this office.
I love the memories. Oli walking here. Bronson talking here. We emerged from baby land within these four walls. I love that Oli still slides in-between us under the covers first thing in the morning. I love that I know how to creep up the stairs as silently as possible, so as to not disrupt a slumber. I love that Ryan and I learned how to unclog pipes here, that we painted the walls and repainted them. I love that we look forward to the raspberries each summer.
But nothing about the physical stature of our home makes it a haven. It’s really just time. Moments gliding together into memories. When any of us need to get away, we go home.
It’ll take a while for our next place to become truly home. I’m sure I won’t even notice, but I’m sure it will happen.