posted on: April 18, 2017
Our current apartment has this yard: well manicured and luscious, and every morning since the start of spring, the kids have thrown on their shoes and run out back to start the day.They gawk at the birds and marvel at the tiny ants overtaking the pavement. When I dream of more light, more space, more this and more that, I think of that morning jaunt to the back. What will they remember when they look up at the blooms with children of their own? What will home be to them? When they are older, what will home be to me? Is it where they are? Or will it remain consistent—blooms flowing about, shadowing my daily choices and haphazard events? The voices of little me and little them, echoing in the back of my head, comparing and contrasting in with who I am and who they are in this moment?
When it comes to motherhood and home, what is the memory that you hope they keep and associate with the term home?
(Image via Gardenista)