Coming Home

How can a door hold so much power?  Not just any door, but one particular door... the one you walk through that means you're home.

Last night, I had a great time with my book club.  We're a rowdy group, made up mostly of recent transplants... and me - the local.  We laugh so much that I don't need an ab workout for days (not that I participate in that sort of thing anyway).  And we drink copious amounts of wine.  And we share strange secrets and motherly struggles and marital frustrations.

We eat more than we should... and there is always dessert (last night - a chocolate fountain with Pringles, Twinkies, strawberries and NutterButters - - YUM).

And we end up staying out later than we ever would with our husbands.

So it was at 11:15 that I found myself walking through my kitchen door - to a not-so-clean kitchen.  But it was home, and it felt good.

Which got me to thinking about all the good "home comings" I remember - either from those long trips that you can't wait for and then can't wait to end, or just from a regular day.  When I was in high school, I came home one blustery fall day after cheerleading practice in the rain to find my mother at the stove cooking biscuits and gravy.  And, for some reason, that simple day is one of my favorite "home comings."  I think about it all the time.

This is what I want for my kids.  I want momentous home comings to be great memories, but I also want simple, regular days to be good home comings.  I want that kitchen door to mean something wonderful to them - something they look forward to seeing - whether they realize it or not.

So there - today, I have found the beauty in a boot-kicked, much-in-need-of-a-good-scrub (and some paint) door.

It's the simple things...