Today’s LetsBlogOff asks, “What is home?”
Boy, has this changed for me. “Home” has gone from “BEFORE” – an apartment with me and my dog (late, great, adorable beagle/basset Stella), to “AFTER” – a house with my husband and stepsons. (And the emergency replacement basset, Daisy.)
Home is where:
I could watch whatever I wanted on TV.
My husband could “accidentally” delete my DVR recordings to make room for every college football game anyone ever even thought about playing.
My kitchen sink was typically empty and dried with a paper towel to eliminate drips and spots. (Just the way mom used to do it.)
Every time I walk into the kitchen I find another glass, knife, fork, spoon and/or dish in the sink. And a sopping wet sponge. EVERY TIME. I blame my mother- in-law. (Sorry, Didi. Love you. But really??) For some reason the boys (and hubby) were never allowed to open the dishwasher and place items inside. When I was first married and tried to “take this hill,” they (the boys) insisted items in the sink made a house look “lived in.” Apparently that is supposed to be a good thing. Whereas my life was spent trying to make a house NOT look lived in, but to look photograph-ready.
I could feast on a dinner of appetizers every night. Cheese & crackers Monday. Cold shrimp Tuesday, Taquito Wednesday… I kept my weight in check and grocery bills down.
Dinner involves an entrée, 2 sides and often the appetizer that used to be my whole meal. Plus, for some reason, boys who ask “What are we having for dinner?” are not happy when the response is, “I’m having an apple and some cheese and crackers. I don’t know what YOU’RE having.”
On the flip side, more often than not, it is hubby who is cooking the too large and complex dinner. I’m just the idiot who eats it and then feels terrible because I just ate a steak and baked potato at 8:45 PM.
I could go on and on… but I won’t. Thank your lucky stars I am at the end of lunchtime again.
But in summary, my answer to the question: “What is home?” is apparently, “Where the boys are.”
Hogging the TV, making messes that amplify the “lived in” look we were SO not going for, and tempting me with too much food that I normally would not even consider purchasing, much less consuming. (Thank goodness most of the junk food gets eaten before I am even fully aware it’s available.)
It’s also where I am never allowed to take out the trash myself, where the yard work is “men’s business,” and I always have someone who knows the score of the game. ANY game. I can also occasionally get a neck rub, an awesome old-fashioned, and a really good steak (medium rare).
For other takes on the What is home? topic, please click here.