Sometime last week, hubs and I were sharing a quiet moment, lying in our room, talking. The kids were doing whatever. Happy and “quiet for the moment” was all that mattered. He turned to me and said, “Should I call room service?”
I burst out laughing. “That is not the life we chose,” I quipped.
And it’s not. I’m not sure that we ever would have had the room service kind of life, even if we hadn’t had kids. I’d probably have stayed in teaching. He’d have stayed a general contractor. We probably never would have left Santa Barbara, his hometown. And with those occupations, living in Santa Barbara, room service probably would not have been an option.
Instead, we chose a home-based life. My work, whether paid or not, has been at home for 16+ years. His work, though it takes him away for the day, allows him to come home by 3pm every day. And he does. There aren’t things that he’d rather do. He wants to be home.
We’ve moved, from Santa Barbara to Paso Robles to Kansas City to San Diego, all in the hopes of building a better home for us and for our kids. Not a better house; remember we rent.
But a better home.
This weekend I watched an 80’s teen movie with my big boys, a film I once thought was fabulous. It was full of your typical broken-home scenarios and kids yearning for love and acceptance. The bad language made me feel that it wasn’t worth the time spent watching it, but it was a poignant reminder: Home is not boring, despite what the world would tell us.
Building a home, a secure place where we know we’re loved, where our kids know they are loved, that is priceless. It’s worth fighting for. It’s worth giving up things for. It’s worth our investment.
Home is where we are. Home is where I want to be. I choose home.