What home feels like. 

The sunlight streaming in too early while you grumble and stick your head under the pillow

Saturday morning shrieks from the kitchen while I attempt to sleep in

The nursery rocking chair where I hold you while you sleep 

The knicked up walls that have suffered the wrath of playtime

The white bedding you make into a fort on the weekends

The lonely soccer ball in the middle of a freshly mowed backyard

The pantry full of Cheerios and goldfish

The sock drawer full of love notes

The bedside table full of each of our half read books

The paint spots on the ceiling that we were too lazy to correct

The kitchen table decorated with dead flowers more often than live ones

The sailboat we bought for Jack in New York that never leaves the bathtub

The colourful polka dot bath mat

The shag living room rug full of Cheerios and goldfish and things I don’t want to know about

The kitchen floor that stays toy free only while we sleep

The pile of laundry that never shrinks

The half painted door in our bedroom that we ‘meant to finish’ over the last two years

The entryway full of little sneakers and big sneakers

The stool you stand on to peek out the window 

The collection of mismatched markers we bought for you and soon after tried to hide in the top drawer of the nursery dresser

The little socks found in between cushions, under the bed, under the rug, stuffed in books

The white kitchen chairs with dirty little footprints all over them

That’s what home feels like.