{Home = LOVE}

Hello, my name is Amanda…..and I am a homebody.  {here’s where you all say, “Hello, Amanda!”} 

I love coming home….from anywhere.  Even vacation.  I love turning the key and hearing the squeaking of the front door as it swings wide into the foyer.  I love my non-matching throw pillows, my eclectic art collection, my Ikea ottaman that stores cozy blankets.  I love my kitchen valance made out of  vintage tea towels and weathered clothespins.  I love my ocean blue sheets and my white coverlet.   

Being a homebody, I sometimes have to convince myself that it’s good to spend the day out of the house, away from dirty dishes, bills, and dust bunnies.  If I am ever reluctant to go, I am always happy that I did.  There’s so much to do and see out there…why waste it sitting inside cleaning and fretting about last night’s dishes?

  I imagine that when I’m old and frail, I’ll be one of those ladies that just sits in her cushy chair, knitting away at something needless like another afgan or a pair of baby booties for no one in particular. My sister and I fantasize that we’ll one day be alone, sitting side by side, rocking in our chairs, talking and laughing.  We should be so lucky to have one another….still…..when we’re old and frail. 

  Little man (my 3-year-old) and I have only lived in our home since March.  For a while there, it was just a house to us.  Somewhere to go after a hard day’s work and play.  I was hesitant to call it a home at first because nothing in it felt like home.  It’s such a great house and I feel guilty even writing those words.  But it’s true.  It felt empty.  

Lately, however, something’s been changing.  At night, I used to hear strange creaks and my heart would skip a beat.  I swore someone was coming up the steps toward our bedrooms.  I don’t hear that anymore.  The light switch plate in the kitchen resembles something you’d see at NASA, but I think I’ve got the first 3 switches memorized. 

I decorated the front door for Fall, something I was unable to bring myself to do last year.  As the days go by, I can picture myself there…playing under the big oak trees with Little man for many years.  Little things like that make a house feel more like a home, don’t you think?