Friday, June 17, 2011

Five-Minute Friday: Home

My body hasn't sunken into my own bed since last Friday.

Hasn't kneeled in the the dark, damp soil of our garden as big and little hands to tend to the plants,

or nestled itself in between two small bodies atop the softness of our mismatched living room couch.

I haven't submerged my hands into the warm dish water of my kitchen's too-shallow sink nor have I lost myself or the boys amid mounds of laundry piled against the washing machine as it hums away.

I've been wandering the interstate of Lake Michigan, exploring small towns, making landing pads out of hotel rooms for the first half of the week and calling home a small family cottage in southwest Michigan for this last part.

I'm not home.

But I'm at home.

In the early-morning snuggles {and even cranky-teething angst} of a toddler.

At the edge of where sand and clear, gentle waves collide.

In the conversations had with my mother in law.

Amid the silliness of a preschooler.

Under the ever-present gaze of my Father.

And, soon, this evening, in the strong arms of my husband.

And there's no building on Earth that makes me feel more at home than the culmination of all that.

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