I came home yesterday to help my nephew Nathan catch up with schoolwork. He’s home from the hospital but not ready to go back to school yet. So now I’m homeschooling three boys who would rather not have me as their teacher. Good times!
Thoughts on going home:
When I tell people that I’m going home to see my parents, they often say, “I thought your parents lived in Virginia.”
“Right,” I explain, “My parents live in Virginia. But I still call it home.”
“Isn’t your home here in Massachusetts with your husband and kids?” they reply, on occasion with a note of judgment.
Of course I consider my house in Cambridge with Jeff and the boys my home. And when I am in Virginia and want to tell people that I am returning to Cambridge, I say that “I need to get back home.”
It’s just that I will always consider my parents’ house my home. If they move to Boca someday (which is in no way a suggestion), then when I go to visit, I’ll say that I’m going home.
If home is where the heart is, then my home is with my parents. And my sisters, and their families. And Jeff. And Zach and Ezra.
Which may have a lot to do with why I homeschool. It hasn’t proved to be a lot of fun yet. But my boys are there. Along with my heart.