Home home

This weekend we went home. Well, that is, we went to my parents' house, which is home. You know how your home is your home, but your home home is your home? You know...the place where you grew up?

The place where your dad made a tire swing just for you because you would NOT stop begging until he did.

The place where you handed your sister the cat named Georgia just as it started to have explosive diarrhea and the mere thought of it alone is enough to make you laugh so hard tears start streaming down your face.

The place where you climbed up the ladder on the bin just to see how high you could go before you got scared.

The place with the tree that used to be HUGE and you used to practice throwing softballs at.

The place with the little creepy shed that holds your dad's oil and stuff that you helped re-roof one summer.

You know, your home home.

I love being home home.

There are no annoying neighbors whose houses are waaaay too close to yours. There are no bright lights illuminating every other foot of the yard. And there are two fabulous people living there who come out the front door to meet you at your car. :)

There's your home home and there's corn.

LOTS of corn.

Guinea Pig, being a city dog, isn't quite sure what to make of things when she comes home home.

"What's this?" she asks.

"And this?"

"And do these people not own a lawn mower?"

"I would, however, like to frolic over there towards those large thingy-things."

Maybe someday she'll get to discover what living out of the city feels like. How much more open and full it can make you feel. Until that day, however, she will just have to enjoy every minute we spend at our home home.