Thursday, September 19, 2013

Home

It is so funny to me.  No matter how many times we leave and come back, and no matter how long we live here, I react the same time, every time.

We have been away from home the last two weeks, visiting Grandma and Grandpa.  It was a blast for the kids.  Parker was still trying to negotiate a swift return as we were driving home from the air port "ok, how about we go home and then on Saturday, we go back to Grandma and Grandpa's house.  Is that a good plan?"
we pulled up to the house, our front yard looked like a jungle - truly, I should have taken a picture.  Even so, our house looked so beautiful to me.  I thought to my self  'man, I love my home.'
We pulled into the garage and I walked into the house, dragging a kid and gasped!
"OH!  I live here!"
I am sure I looked ridiculous.  I just kept looking around at this beautiful home.  It was bright, and open, and lovely.  Turning circles to try to take in a scene that I had looked at for endless hours just a few weeks ago, I simply couldn't get enough.  My hands were to my mouth in silent joy.  Chris came over and I gave him a big long hug. 
"thank you for our home, Chris!'
He hugged me back, laughing a little at his ridiculous wife. 

I love my home.  Apparently I think it is the most beautiful place.  I prefer it to any place. 

9/14/2013

Lyra's bedtime prayer:

Dear Henly fader.  Thank you for the food and the water.  Thank you for the astroid that didn't explode the earth.  The dinosaurs are all dead now, but that's ok.  and the museum with the bones.  thank you for the babies.  and curtains.  The name of Jesus Christ amen.

There were more bits in there that I can't remember.. Man she is adorable.  She has really started talking now that they go to preschool.  the down side is that they have been twice and Parker has already said 'Mom, do people tear off heads and flush them down the toilet?'  Two days.  This is a really nice school, too.   I hate that other kids are exposed to so much violence.  and I hate that now my kid is.

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