I can only imagine that “home” has many different meanings. I was very blessed as a child. My parents divorced when I was four years old and even though they were no longer married, they co-parented very well and remained friendly for my sake. I had two older sisters. One was sixteen years older than me and the other one was eleven years older than me. So growing up, I had many homes that I stayed at and it wasn’t until I was older that I realized how different I was from the majority of my friends. Most of my friends had the normal family or at least in my mind they did. They had both parents living together, they had siblings, usually younger, and of course the family pets.

Although, my family was different, I loved it, even though I thought all my friends had the normal family that somehow had passed me by. My life was interesting for several reasons. Because of the fact that my sisters were so much older than me, I would frequently stay with them and I felt very at home with them. They played a huge part in raising me seeing that they were so much older when I was born. I was always included in their life activities and it was like I had a separate home with each of them. I was one lucky girl. On top of having my sister’s homes to go to, my Dad remarried and in the summer I would go stay with him. Much of my time spent with my parents were between the states of Illinois, where my Dad lived and California, where my Mom lived. So between my two sisters and both my parents, I already had four homes to consider my home. But that’s not all! At some point (I don’t exactly remember when) but my Mom was struggling with depression and I went to live with my Grandparents. They were wonderful and I felt right at home there as well. I was a well loved kid. Thank goodness. I had five wonderful homes that I was considered to be a part of. It wasn’t as if I was a guest either. I truly was wanted and felt like all these different houses were my home.

So when asked what does “Home” mean to me? I will probably have a very different answer than some of you reading this. I personally think that “home” is the place that you feel wanted, safe and loved. Where you can lie your head down and night and sleep knowing that you are in a good and welcoming place. A place that you will wake up happy.

Home at my oldest sister’s home meant talking, giggling so much and not really knowing what we were giggling about. Home with her was being together and cooking tacos. Oh, the tacos! I still love tacos. Her home was my home because together we shared so much. She taught me how to be Sassy too! I was the little sister that wanted to hang out with the big sister and luckily she loved me enough to include me. Thanks Sis!

Home at my other sister’s house meant talking and being silly. I always remember grocery shopping with her and being included in day to things. I remember going boating and eating at restaurants with her and my niece. I babysat a lot for my niece and I loved it so much. Her home was home to me because we made memories and jokes that nobody else understood.

Home at my Grandparent’s house meant lots of food and fun times with family. Grandma would cook every day and expect people to show up. She would start cooking every morning, not knowing how many people would be there for lunch or dinner, but somehow she always had enough for everyone. The amounts of food that woman could cook in such a short time was amazing. Home meant desserts too. I don’t remember a time where there wasn’t something sweet after a meal. Yes, I do blame Grandma for my sweet tooth. Home meant pure silliness and dancing and playing video games with Grandpa. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t beat me. Those were the days. Home meant love, joy and time spent with each other.

Now as an adult with my own home and family, the meaning of “home” to me is different. Home to me is still where the love is and where I feel safest, but home is where my family and friends come. Home is a warm and inviting place where we share stories, memories, make new memories, love each other and if I am being totally honest, occasionally have a disagreement or argument. But because it’s home, that’s where we can be honest and open with the ones we love. Home is my happy place where I go to escape the rest of the world and try to make sense of all the crazy stuff going on in this world. Home is where my grown children come to visit. Home is where we give each other hugs and forgive and encourage each other. Home is what we make it. It’s like legos. You learn to build a home one brick at a time. There is not the perfect home, but there is a home that is perfect for you.

I would love to hear your stories of what “home” means to you. Please share if you feel so inclined. It would totally make my day to hear from you. Have a great day!