My home

It's difficult to feel at home when the world is constantly telling you the home you have built is not enough. As endless pictures of perfectly curated rooms fill my social media feed, stinging guilt seeps into my heart. Do my children deserve better? I stare around the room at the scattered laundry, second-hand furniture, mismatched walls- and suddenly my little house feels infinitely less-than. Would beige Behr walls and new furniture make me a better parent? Do my children care that the decor tying our house together is from the dollar store? Is this perfect life that I see so often online something real, or just another facade in a world that can feel so unauthentic?

Gratitude towards my home is something that I have struggled with. I preach this concept to my children often. "Don't complain about dinner, there are children out there who have no idea if they are going to be able to even eat dinner tonight". "Be grateful for what you have instead of wanting more, someone out there would love to own the clothing in your closet". Humility is not lost on me, so why is it so hard to take the advice that I offer to my children?

In a world where our worth often seems deemed from what we have, it's exhausting to maintain the mental capacity for social media. We are told that we should have "this", and if we don't- we should want it. But why? Why is the worth of our home measured in material and not vitality? Does the fact that my house is small, sometimes cluttered, and mismatched make it any less of a "home"? Absolutely not.

I look around my house as I type this, and I see life all around my home. It's in the pile of books next to me on the couch that my son read to me last night before bed. There is watercolor paint left out from my youngest daughter, as she attempted to re-create a painting she watched Bob Ross paint that night. There are crumbs on my carpet that need to be vacuumed, cups on the kitchen table that need to be washed, and wrappers in my older daughter's room that need to be tossed.

These tiny things all around my house make up my home. To me, that's what home is. It's not a perfectly decorated house, but the life that happens within that house. It's baking cookies with your children, reading books, rushing home from soccer practice to make a quick hot meal. Sometimes the life that happens at home isn't so pleasant. Arguments, rushing reluctant children out the door to school, and making sure the nitty-gritty parts of life get done. That's what home is though, sometimes. It's sitting in the chaos of life, and still finding moments throughout the day where you stop to feel unwavering gratitude.

It's a saying we have all heard a thousand times- Home is where the heart is. This reigns truer than ever in today's world. These material possessions don't matter. Your children won't remember the color of your walls, or whether your picture frames were from Anthropologie or Walmart. Children remember feelings. The memories attached to those feelings. How fun it felt to watch a scary movie together as a family around Halloween. Or hearing the ice-cream truck ride past your house, and running after them with change in hand- hoping their little feet would be able to catch up.

I'm going to make a conscious effort to slow down and focus less on the physical aspect of my home, but rather on building the life inside my home. I want my home to be a place where memories run deep for my children, and they feel a sense of safety and gratitude when they are here. Not for the things we have, but the time we have had here. Time and memories with the people you love most. That's home to me.