Home

I am home again, and reminded of something my Farfar used to say. “Borta bra, men hemma best.” (That's Swedish, my native language, and means, “Away is fine, but home is best.”) It's so true.

I love the road, I really do. Love watching the miles pile up, love stopping at all of the states' “Welcome Centers” to see what they claim as fame in their slice of the vast country, love to eat all my meals out. But home is:

Not having to put down toilet paper on every toilet you use.

Sleeping in your own bed again.

(That's NOT in the same room as your children.)

It's the weeds in your garden, and overtaking your strawberries, but you have STRAWBERRIES! (Which hadn't begun to ripen when you left.)

It's loads and loads of laundry, but no coins needed.

It's your house's familiar smells, even if one of them is the rotten tomato, forgotten on the counter for over two weeks.

And it's checking your email, on a screen bigger than your beloved iPhone...

I'm glad to be home, but exhausted. And I can't wait to write again. See you tomorrow!