There’s a certain feeling you get when you know you are home.
It’s hard to put into words, but it is a feeling that doesn’t come at any other time.
It just feels right.
We’ve lived in four houses.
The first one was the first one and we knew it wouldn’t be the last.
So, somehow, subconsciouly, we never really settled in, although we lived there for three years.
Our second house was great, and we did feel home, but we filled it up and thought we might need more space.
In our third home…we just didn’t fit.
I don’t mean spacially.
I mean…it just wasn’t right for us.
We never truly felt at home there.
And then, yesterday, we moved into our fourth (and last, if we can help it) house.
And…
…we’re home.
And…
…we’re happy.
