I collapsed into our bed late last night after we returned from a weekend at the lake. I suppose it is good to be home.
I mean, the lake house is missing some of the comforts of home. The beds at the lake house are lumpy and worn. The blankets are used, mismatched sets from our pile of old stuff in the basement. The pillows are second rate. The tiny, window unit air conditioners in the bedrooms rattle and hum all night long. The water from the faucet smells like the lake, and there is that spot on the kitchen floor that buckles when you step on it.
So, I suppose it is good to be home. Here at home we have large, cozy beds with warm blankets and fluffy pillows. The air conditioner silently keeps the whole house a cool 73 degrees at all times. You can drink the water and depend on the kitchen floor not to buckle.
But here at home we don’t have the lake. Or the beach where the kids play for hours and hours. We don’t have friends and family visiting for the weekend or long boat rides along the shore of the lake to look at the houses we could never afford. We don’t have Maddie and Katie squealing with excitement at their first tube ride or my husband’s constant smile at his dream having actually come true. We don’t have dinner on the patio or paddle boat rides or ducks to feed or long days stretching out endlessly with nothing to do but swim.
It is good to be home in this big, beautiful house where we have everything we could ever need.
(I am taking a break from Slice of Life Tuesdays for the month of July. I will be back to share more stories in August.)