I’ve always heard that home is where the heart is. I guess I’ve always believed it too. But the past few days have made me reconsider this old saying.
We are having a considerable number of woes with our house and moisture and the floors. Last Friday workers came to start drying it out and they told us that we probably shouldn’t stay there because it would be too hot.
We’d known that there was a big chance that we’d have to move out of the house while it was fixed, and I’d tried to accept it. But when the time came I thought maybe I could brave the heat … although it turns out the heat wasn’t as bad as the fumes from the furnace.
No matter how much I daydream about an adventurous lifestyle, at the end of the day I guess I just want to be in my own space come nighttime.
And truth be told I was having a little Deja vu, because we lived with Michael’s parents for four months or so before the boy was born while the house was made ready. I had about a week at our house before he came, and with little sister scheduled to arrive in less than six weeks I don’t think I’m going to have any time for nesting this go around either.
We’ve spent the last four nights roving around from Michael’s parents to mine. Thank goodness for their hospitality, but tonight we get to sleep at home again because the floors are dry, and I couldn’t be happier.
That’s what has made me think about that old saying about home being where the heart is. I’m pretty sure my heart is with Michael and Emory, but I tell you what, the past few days made me wonder if it wasn’t also where all my own junk is. No matter how hospitable people are, there’s just nothing like crashing on your own couch and sleeping in your own bed.
I’m really going to cherish where I lay my head tonight. That’s funny to me, because I actually don’t like our house much at all, as I’ve previously said how I’d really like to live in a camper for a while. I’ll never know whether it’s the house I don’t like or the fact that we have lived there for three and a half years and it still isn’t completely renovated.
It’s aggravating, but I have to keep telling myself that in the grand scheme of things I have no problems at all.
I don’t know when our house will be fixed. I hope in a week or two. I don’t know if we will have to spend more time away from there.
Until I find out I’m burying my heart under my pillow and hoping it can just stay there.
If we have to stay with our parents some more, I’ll just be thankful we have free places to go, even if I’m secretly singing the chorus to that old Bobby Bare song, Detroit City … “I wanna go home. I wanna go home. Ohh, how I want to go home.”