Today, I’m grateful to be home. I love my in-laws and I love when we visit. But there’s no place better on earth than your home. The mess is your mess. There’s no guilt about the dirty dishes in the sink. You created them and you can ignore them with blissful abandon. When my kids act up at home, they act up. But when I’m anywhere else other than my own walls, I feel like their icky kid-behavior is a reflection of my parenting short-comings. My dirty laundry is a timeline of my life when I’m at home, not a crumpled mess nagging to be put in a suitcase. Scribbled pages scattered across the table don’t need to be recycled or straightened right away when you’re home. Maybe it’s proof of the imagination which lives in our kitchen. But honestly, I’m lazy and like to create stories to make that trait “ok”. But you see, I get to be the storyteller in my own home. Home feels great because I created it. These dust bunnies are all mine. And I’m grateful to be with them tonight.