While I was at the airport I had a couple of people ask me if I was flying home or flying FROM home… I was kind of caught off guard.
Where is my home.
I mean, I guess my home is in the dessert. The other day El Presidante told me that it won’t be home until we’ve lived here for a year, and I laughed and asked him where his home was right now… or if he was homeless. Turns out he’s homeless…. OR, maybe he had some philosophical answer like, “I live here, but it’s not home yet.”
And maybe my 11 year old is right. Because I was stopped in my tracks.
My parents, while I have been here, have told me that they bought burial plots (yay!). I’ve often wondered if Drew or I were to die, where we would be buried… I mean, if we’d been buried in California, that would be unfortunate because we’re not headed back there…
Would we buy a plot in AZ after living there such a short time?
I don’t know, what do people do?
I think I was just getting to the point where I would’ve bought my plot in CA… when we moved.
I realize this is a ridiculous blog entry, but do you guys ever think about all this? Am I crazy?
Ok, I am. I do know while I haven’t had many, a few small pangs of missing home are tugging at my heart strings. Because home is where my family is… one very tiny whiny, Mr Middle, El Presidante and of course Mr. E.
Because home, is where you (and by you, I mean Drew) are…. anyone know that song by Girls Love Shoes, it used to be on Lowes ads.