After living with my mom for a week in a retirement community somewhere outside of Palm Springs, I’m glad to be home. I don’t have a childhood home where each time I visit I can stay in my old room and be near the things I remember; my mom and stepdad have moved too much for that. In fact, I can remember five homes that I lived in from kindergarten until high school graduation.

Since then the meaning has changed. For me, home is…

…where M., Moo, Pumpkin and A. are.

…where the Internet is available 24/7 in any place in the house.

…where I know where everything in the kitchen is.

…where my son can run around and I already know the hazards.

…where there is little furniture, but each piece has a story or an inspiration.

…where I can walk to the bank, Starbucks, grocery store and, even Nordstrom. Also, at least one employee at each of the above knows me and Baby A.

…where I can walk through movie productions or premieres unexpectedly.

…where I can walk to a facility and train next to world-class athletes.

…where my Heavenly bed is.

…where my baby smiles, my kitties nap and my husband is.

These are the things that define my home (for now). In the future some of these characteristics will change, but not the first or the last ones on this list.


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