Where is home?

Last night I said something was at my house, and J asked if it was 'here' as in the apt I'm about to share with him. I said no, it's in Brooklyn, or maybe my parents' house in Washington. This got me thinking about the concept of home and how it becomes something less constant as you get older. Or maybe that's just me, as a child we lived in the same house as long as I can remember so my idea of home and family was also wrapped up in a physical location.

Here we are in front of our house on a rare snow day. Look at my mom's hair! Lol. And my outfit. Yikes. 

Please disregard my outfit, hair, and general look...my childhood wasn't a photogenic one.

I loved that house at 2325 Maple Street. My parents put so much into taking it from a tiny one bedroom house to a large three bedroom. I can't even be sure how many hours my dad spent remodeling it, move a wall here, add a new bedroom, double the size, add a bathroom, etc. When I was just about to graduate college my parents called to say they had sold the house and I was devastated. I literally sobbed like a baby. Haha. I cry easily...

All of our house pictures are of snow, but when else do you think, I know, I'll take a picture of the house?

They've lived in their new house for close to 10 years now I think, and even though I had my own apartment, their house felt like home. When I moved across the country to Brooklyn it took a while until I stopped feeling like I was just visiting and just about the time J and I started discussing living together my place started feeling like home. Ha! Of course! 

Now it's my last week in Brooklyn and while I'm sad that I'm leaving my neighborhood and apartment (it's really great), I realize that over the past few month especially it started to feel more and more like a collection of rooms and less a home, but I don't feel homeless. When I'm at J's/our apartment I feel like I can relax and just let the feeling of having a home sink in.  The cheesy line is, 'home is where the heart is' and maybe that's true.