A letter to home

We stood in that empty living room space, just the two of us, with one rug on the floor surrounded by fold out chairs. The room felt so big and our voices echoed off of the walls.

Cross-legged on the rug, we pieced tubes of glass together to later be hung over the bare bulbs on the ceiling.

Our bed was the first thing he built, so that we could sleep well on our first night ‘home’.

Brand new furniture was released from countless cardboard boxes and as he built the set to our new life together, I scrubbed skirting boards, and as he fixed coving I arranged furniture.

Together – we made our home.

This teeny tiny home with it’s two bedrooms and kitchen that only allows manoeuvring by dance if more than one enters. This little nugget haven that wraps it’s arms around you and whispers – you are safe – this cosy little space that requires a duvet on the sofa and mandatory snuggling to stay warm.

I see the hidden corners in my kitchen and can remember clearly that first day, the baby cat hiding inside crevices, my terror as I imagined she would never come out, and I remember the tears when I thought she might die of fright and I would be the world’s worst pet owner. I remember how he tore apart kitchen panels to rescue her, and to rescue me.

Then came the second kitten, my suprise after weeks of asking for him. The kitten who liked the washing machine a little too much – again and again I would cancel cycles just to check I hadn’t accidentally loaded on top of him – just to stop my heart from beating through my chest with fear.

This little home is lovingly scratched and torn by these two house guests, and still they adorn furniture with their lazy, warm, sleepy bodies.

This is the little home where I spent my pregnancy. The home that housed me as I grew and grew. The bed that had me rolling in discomfort all night, and the sofa that offered him respite when my fidgeting became unbearable.

And that bedroom, so small, yet so lovingly painted by grandad, decorated and cleansed and refurnished in preparation of the little one’s arrival.

This is the tiny home that welcomed our beautiful little boy, that sheltered me in darkness as I sobbed through sleepless nights, the walls that witnessed that first smile, the first bath and all the many wonderful milestones since he was born.

This home hosted his very first birthday party and is adorned with Christmas golds and greens and reds each year. It’s walls are filled with the smells of countless sausage casseroles and fresh baked cakes and merry marshmallow yankee candles.
This is my little home, and although I have no room for hanging laundry, no storage space at all and no garden for my son to play, this has been the stage for so many magical and wonderful moments of life – and it’s really not the size of the house, the number of rooms or whether or not you have a dishwasher or tumble dryer that makes a home, but the company shared, the many cups of tea brewed, the food enjoyed, the laughter and tears and all the many memories..

these are the things that make this little house a home.

I am linking up today with Ruth at Learning {one day at a time} for the final installment of ‘Letters to’. Please join us with your ‘Letter to home’, we’d love to read it!