Home.

As I have mentioned before, this has kind of been a doozy of a summer.

It has certainly had it’s moments of brightness and beauty,

but the scarier moments have only served to heighten my gratitude for the loved ones around me.

I am so so blessed to have the family that I have been born into.

I treasure my family with all that I am.

And so, after some weeks of tumult, this weekend, I went home.

My parents’ house is a mere 10 minutes from my own,

but a visit was not enough.

For one night, we moved back in.

My whole, big, furry, babyish brood.

And my sister came in from the far off city in which she dwells.

She needed to come home to.

For a sleepover party.

My dad cooked for us.

My mom held our hands and let us snuggle up to her.

We all took care of each other.

All under the same roof.

And remember how I mentioned that my dad cooked for us?

This is what dinner looked like.

And this is what breakfast and bed looked like.

And then this was lunch.

And in between stuffing our faces,

we all piled into my parents’ bedroom and did exactly what we needed;

We snuggled up,

we reminisced,

we joked around

and laughed until our eyes were wet with tears.

And talked about our fears,

until the tears dripped down our cheeks.

And then laughed some more.

We healed.

And on Sunday morning, as I hid under the covers of my sister’s childhood bed,

playing peak-a-boo with my little girl,

her sticky, pumpkin-waffle-smelling-face pressed up against mine,

I felt so filled with peace.

So filled with gratitude..

…with love.

Because that sleepover,

that time with my family,

that everything…

that

is where the heart is.