I’ve always thought of “home” as where my parents live.  Home was Tucson when I went away to college and now that I live in Chicago, home is in Atlanta.  There is always something special about coming home that gives me those warm and fuzzy feelings.

I suppose my concept of home was something that was fostered when I was growing up.  My family is from Louisiana but my Dad moved us out to Tucson when I was one.  To my parents, home was where their parents were.  It’s funny the impressions that I have from those summer trips back “home” (Louisiana).  There was always something distinctive in the smell of Meme’s home, or the aroma of Mam-ma’s cooking that just felt…like home. 

There is one particular impression that I have accumulated over the years from those trips to Louisiana.  This impression is one that gives me the feeling of comfort and security – it’s a feeling that is hard to describe – but when I feel that feeling I know I’m home.  The first time I can distinctly remember this feeling I was seven.  I was sleeping on the floor of my Grandpa’s office, a room just of the main living room that had a French door and a huge roll-top desk.  I was with my cousin Lloyd and it was morning time.  The house was just beginning to wake up and my grandmother (Mam-ma) and my Mom were in the kitchen making coffee and starting to get breakfast ready.  They were talking just loud enough for me to hear them but not loud enough to hear what they were saying.  I was warm and cozy and their voices, spoken in soft tones, just made me feel happy.  Happy to be there, happy to know that Mom was near by, happy to see my grandparents…just happy.  That is my “coming home” feeling. 

I don’t get that feeling much any more, which makes me sad.  And I didn’t get it on this trip either.  But something else happened that provided proof that I was “home” – the smell of the air.  It reminded me of Louisiana and with the stifling heat and sound of the bugs going…well, it was just like I was a kid going to Mam-ma’s house.  I know I’ve been home this week.  And it was good.

Life has been a little busy for the last few days and I have not had an opportunity to pick up again on the SSMO.  With the Ravelrylmpics starting in 2 days it looks as if the SSMO is going to have to wait a few weeks.

Peanut is doing great.  Even in the last few days she has really changed and is beginning to focus her eyes some and really look around.  Flutterby is trying to be a good big sister.  She wants to hold the peanut and to feed her.  She just doesn’t have the “gentle” thing down yet, but she will soon.

Kris, my sister, enrolled the Flutterby in a dance class for this year.  It is a tap/ballet combination class.  She’ll even have a recital in June…can’t wait to see that one.  We took her yesterday to get her pink tights and pink leotard and pint ballet slippers (notice the trend?) and her black tap shoes.  Let’s just say that the dance store was a little bit of a sensory overload for her.  Even amidst the distractions she did good and we were able to get out of there in about 2 hours, which is a record, I think.

Then we went to the pool in Mom and Dad’s subdivision.  I am so glad that she is not afraid of the water.  She was standing on the edge and jumping into my arms just like a pro.  She still doesn’t get the blowing bubbles thing but I suppose that a few more times of getting water up her nose might cure her of that.

Oh, my watch just beeped…time to go rinse the color from my hair.  I’ll be returning to Chicago a new blond.  No grey – whoopee!

****Edited at 10:18 PM to add:
The hair color turned out great.  I am now a “Champagne Blond” instead of the “dirty blond” that I’ve been sporting.  Put on your sunglasses…here I come!