I feel sometimes like I’m living in temporary housing. The house we’re in right now was never intended to be our permanent residence. My husband bought it before we were even engaged, with the intent of selling it after a year of fixing it up. Three years later we’re stuck in a battle between making it more livable for us, and making it more sellable for future potential buyers. Anyone who has ever sold a house knows that the two are NOT the same. Add to that the fact that it is too small for us, and that we’re trying to start up two separate home-based businesses right now, and you can imagine that our house doesn’t always feel like home. I think that’s why I’ve had such a hard time writing for this blog lately. I feel very strongly about home, but sometimes I don’t feel like mine is what I want it to be. And with the conflicting priorities, limited budget, and cramped spaces, well, a lot of the time I don’t really feel like trying to make it something other than barely functional.
But maybe the fact that it can be that place that’s not perfect, and that I’m not perfect in, is what makes it truly my home. If home is where the heart is, then just my hubby being there makes it my home. No matter where we’re at with the moving around and fussing about there is always a moment (at least one) every day where I collapse into my husband’s arms and I am home. We have the rest of our lives to make the places we live the home we want, and as long as we’re together we have everything we need to make that happen.