My home

I have lived in the same house for the last 11 years. For most of these years my house has been "under construction." It’s safe to say that my parents got ripped off when they bought the house, but with a dog, a cat, a 6 year old and another baby on the way we needed a house, not a duplex. So we moved home.
People we don’t know, my friends, even people we have known forever make rude comments about my house. I've been called white trash and poor. But the only response I have to their comments is pity. Not pity for myself because my home isn’t finished or perfect(in their standards) or worth a million bucks, but pity for them, because they think theirs is. I’ve had complaints about my home always being full of children and being small. Those comments I smile at. Those complaints are the reason quite a few people love my home.
My home is so full of memories; not a single person I know is without one or two from this house. My parents have taken in every friend and child that my brother; sister or I have ever brought home. Dinneris cooked based on the eating habits of their guests, Mom does my friends’ laundry when the clothes are left here, and until licenses were issued Mom has always been our number 1 chauffeur. This is part of our home. It's a home so completely full of love that even in the worst mood its hard not feel at peace here.
The construction of our house has brought us happy memories of family and friends and a lot of inside jokes. Pictures then and now show the difference we’ve made in our home. But they don’t show the difference we’ve made in the lives around us. Our house may not be close to finished on the outside but the quality of life on the inside could not be any better.
There is love, devotion, and more caring in my house than most of my friends’ houses combined. My friends like to hang at my house, because my parents treat them like their own and after awhile its hard not to think of them as so.
My house may be small but it’s cozy. I never have to worry about where in the house everyone is, and if I listen closely enough I can hear the content snoring of my parents from any room. The food cooked in the kitchen is smelled no matter where I’m at. I get away with snatching food because “I'm on my way” to some other room. I can’t be angry for too long at anyone here because can't hide from their hugs and apologies long enough. There is no hiding in from anyone in my home.
My house may not be finished, but it will be. And until then, the building has cultivated dreams in all of us. Dreams of our new rooms, dreams of future decorating, and dreams of our future homes. No matter the size, or the building status of this house, it is home. It will always be my home, the place where I belong, and no matter where I'm at I can’t stay away too long because its where I dream of being.