I’m still not quite over the loss of what I’ve annoyingly been referring to as our “dream house.” And it’s in times like these when cliches like “Home is where the Heart is” really tend to grate on my nerves. I've been trying to give myself pep-talks of the sort but the only answer I have coming from the little devilish real-estate agent on my shoulder is: Home is NOT where the heart is. Home is the covered-porch-and-blue-shake-cedar-siding that you are no longer getting. Except I know that’s not true and I’m just being a spoiled brat. There will certainly be other houses. And home absolutely is where the heart is. It's also where your jogging pants are, and where your tooth brush is. And maybe there are magazines of your preference next to the toilet. That’s home.
It's also the furriest face that is always excited to see us when we get in the door after work.
And again I'm humbled by the way Cliff reminds me that it's really just as simple as being all together in a pile.
Happy Weekend-ing! I hope your's involves a similar sort of hybrid pile :)
This is the third day of the 31 Day Blog Challenge I'm taking part in.