home is a funny thing

I went home for Thanksgiving and it was a strange sort of wonderful. The house wasn't sparkling, I had a little cold, and people were coming and going constantly but it was still great. I had weird moments of childish frustration and moments of totally contentment. I don't expect perfection any more. This is a big adjustment for me because I've always loved plans and structure. Structure gives me a sense of security but I guess it's a false security.
Home. For so long I've wanted it to be a place where there's always a fire in the fireplace, cookies in the oven, and a happy family sitting together around the table.It's laughable, really. That's not what home is and I'm really really ok with it. I didn't have a good conversation with my parents until they brought me back to school and we went out to dinner. It was the first time things slowed down long enough for us to talk about things we wanted to talk about (not just the things we needed to discuss).
For the first time in my life, I'm ok with living in a house where we do random things like re carpet the house right before we leave for 4 months. People are constantly moving in and out. I don't know if the other bedroom upstairs belongs to Ande, Spencer, or art work. Furniture is never in the same place and the dog is a huge regret and a necessary joy at the same time.
Being home was just what I needed even though it's not a home out of a story book.