Jeremy and I are moving back to our hometown this weekend, which sort of turns life into a vacation that lasts forever. Home? Remember how much I love home? Egg sandwiches and dog walking? Mom time. The ability for Dad to MacGyver anything into working order on the day it breaks, rather than waiting a month.
Hot tub. Ozzie. Hammock in the summertime. Free dinner, oh my God.
I'm a bit of a homebody. As in, mama's girl. As in, I'd rather lay around on my parents' couch for an entire weekend with the dog than actually have to leave and socialize.
Plus, Dad has all the Harry Potter movies.
Throughout my adult life, all eight years of it, I've never lived near my family. It's always been a drive. A visit home was an event that had to be planned. It involved packing a bag, shoving too much family time into too short a weekend and driving home late Sunday night in a perpetual funk, dreading a return to the real world.
And now? No more. Now I can pop over and lay on the couch at a moment's notice. I can take Ozzie for a walk after work. I can visit Grandma and help put up the Christmas tree. I can see movies with Dad that Mom doesn't want to see. I can do whatever I want.
I might hyperventilate.
So, that's exciting.