i love my weekends. they are always different. we’re not a “mow the lawn on friday, grocery shop on saturday, rest on sunday” sort of family.

some weekends we’re away, some weekends we’re apart. the best weekends are when we are all together no matter where we are.

but i am a home-body. i love my home. i enjoy going out too, but the best part is coming back home.

slipping that key into the lock, reaching for the hall light without having to look for the switch, putting down the bags, taking off the shoes and hanging up the coats. the familiar creaks in the floorboards as i walk down the hall, the curve of the banister always ready to guide me upwards. yes, even those messy spots that tend to accumulate stuff no matter how i try to organize things, and that cobweb in the corner which i keep dusting, which keeps reappearing.

it’s the smell. it’s the feel. it’s my home. and it could be anywhere. but there really is no place else like it…