It was a good holiday… if you discount the cabin fever, the ludicrous amount of snow that made snowploughing quite awkward at times and the combination of early mornings and alcohol. Note to self for the umpteenth time: Baileys and wine DO NOT MIX.

 

But it was still good to get home.

 

Home is where the Princess was waiting for us, loving us unconditionally…

 

Home is where I can be certain that my favourite wine is chilling in the fridge and that there’s more hidden in the storage if I need it….

 

Home has MY bed that is molded exactly to my body – not too hard, not too soft and with crisp white linen (if it’s a good month)…..

 

Home contains my history and those little nostalgic momentos from the past that keep seeping into my present and give me comfort…

 

Home is where my family of cushions live (and reproduce); that I fluff and re-coordinate daily to sate my creative juices especially when I am lacking in writing inspiration….

 

Home is where my own special brands of snacking naughtiness are concealed from the teenagers…

 

Home has his n’ hers sinks in MY bathroom so that his spit-out never touches mine and I’m not grossed out by his razor hair washed up on the sides of the bowl first thing in the morning…

 

Home is where Kurt’s den of iniquity is positioned not TOO close, yet not TOO far from my radar…

 

Home is where NC’s mess is positioned not TOO close, yet not TOO far that I can’t see it out of the eyes at the back of my head…

 

Home is where I can scream at the kids like a fucking fishwife, yet no-one really knows what a truly bad mother I can be when all my buttons are pushed at the same time…

 

Home is where my favorite coffee shop knows exactly how I like my coffee and it’s within easy breaking-down distance…

 

Home is where my family photos remind me that the Dysfunctionals can have great times too…

 

Home is where those fugly Chinese plates I inherited from my mum remind me of my mum, even though their inherent fugliness irritates my sense of style.

 

Home is where I can remind myself that once I was, (unintentionally), a size 8 by looking at my wedding photo. I’ve done ‘skinny’ and now I deserve to be me…

 

Home is where my work station houses many of my imaginary, old and new friends in the bowels of my computer, who make me laugh and feel like I belong when I need them to…

 

Home gives me a sense of belonging and security and sometimes the reason to never have to leave the house.

 

Home. That is all.

 

What is ‘home’ to you?