Going Home

The holidays are a time when people spend time with their families. Many of us return to our parents houses to celebrate, visit, and hopefully relax. Most of the time it's the house we grew up in, but sometimes our parents have moved out and live somewhere completely different. So even though you may say you are going "home," is that really still your home? Is your home the place where you grew up? Is home just the place where your family is located now? Or is home where you are currently living?

By now, many people my age have their own places.  Whether its an apartment or a house (my real "grown-up" friends have houses already), they have a home that they lay their heads every night. Is that that what you consider your home? If so, when you go to your parents' house, do you still call it home? I certainly do. And I don't think that will ever change. (Unless of course my parents move. Which btw, better not happen unless its a second home in a warm locale. Hint, hint mom and dad. But the house I grew up in better always be my home and it is actually a dream of mine to raise my kids in that house.) 

There's something about going home that just feels right. The beep from the alarm when I immediately open the door. The smell of my house. The dog coming up to me with that look of "I know you. Where have you been for so long?" And then all the hugging and kissing hello that will happen again even though we did it at the airport. Gosh, I love going home.

After all this, I will then go upstairs to my bedroom. It is basically unchanged since I left for college over 11 years ago. This is where I will once again notice that my childhood bedroom is the same size, if not a little bigger, than my entire apartment in NYC and laugh to myself at this sorry indifference. I will look around to double check that my mom has not changed anything without my permission (or as she calls it: decluttering. Ugh).  My "Wall of Fame"/"Shrine to Myself" is still up with all my trophies, medals, plaques, team pictures even though I know it drives my mom insane. My bulletin board still has everything on it. And all my tchotchkes (troll dolls included!) are still in their respective places. Phew. It's as if I was transformed back to the year 2000 and I love every second of it. After all, when I come home, I like to pretend I am young again: laying in bed with mom and dad, going family grocery shopping on Sundays, and not having to open my wallet when I go clothes shopping with my mom. I will never be too old for any of these things. Ever.

As much as I love having my own life away from home, I miss it sometimes. I miss some of the comforts of suburbia and I miss the close proximity to my family. (Talking on the phone like five times a day just isn't the same as being there.) However, the fact that I left the nest, so to speak, and left Chicago to take on something different is something I am very proud of. I mean, I live in freaking New York City, and I am thriving there if I do say so myself. Despite all this, its always good to go home now and again, sleep in my own bed, and be taken care of as if I never left. This will never get old and as long as my house is always my home, some things will never change.