Feels Like Home…..

I hope everyone had a fabulous Easter! I for one, am feeling completely choc-ed out, but that’s always a sign of a great Easter!

We started the day with rather loud whispers from Fred and Katie as they discovered the footprints that the Easter Bunny had left throughout the house. Finally they happened across the stash that had been left underneath our Easter Tree, and they were thrilled to discover that not only were there lots of eggs, but presents too!! (Some very cute winter PJs – how clever of the bunny to know all their sizes!).

It was then that Freddy peaked out of the windows and discovered that the back lawn had been sprinkled with many more little eggs, hidden everywhere by that cheeky bunny! Katie’s face and reaction just warmed our hearts – more than we could have hoped for. She was just soooo excited – she was darting from one to the other, her little legs hardly keeping up with her eyes (and her tummy!). Priceless! What’s more is that not once did anyone count how many eggs they had collected! The numbers were grossly in Katie’s favour, but Maddy and Fred were just happy with their own little treasures!

We then headed to my parent’s home for lunch.

My Mum and Dad still live in the same house that they built together as newly weds. It was the home that I was bought home to as a baby. I went to the local school, just a few streets away. I met my husband-to-be in the house next door when I was just 12. I spent my entire childhood, playing with my brother and sister with the neighbourhood kids.

When I moved out of home, I moved into a house in the same suburb, just a few streets away. And then I moved house again, to ANOTHER house in the same suburb. My hubby and I (just friends at that time) spent many weekends water-skiing at the local boat ramp.

So when I go to my parent’s house, I feel like I am coming home. I know these streets like the back of my hand. I know the feel of the car as it takes each turn, just like it did when I slept on the way home from visiting my Grandma. I know the local swimming pool where I learnt to swim.  I can still point out all the houses that I have visited on play dates with my old school friends. I visit the block of land that I always wanted to buy, now well-established with another house, another family now living the life that I had dreamed of all those years ago.

We drive along the street that hubby and I once walked along. The same one on which I knew I had fallen head over heels in love with with this man – that I knew I couldn’t live without him, even though we had a long road to travel before we could be together.

And so all these memories come flooding back. The early memories of a happy and blessed childhood, the memories of seeing my primary school which holds a stack of memories all on its own. The very spot where I saw my husband for the first time, and was mesmerised by the incredible colour of his eyes. The same colour eyes that he has passed on to our children.

And my Mum and Dad’s home – which is filled with love and a lifetime – my lifetime – of moments of laughter and life. My very own soft place to fall when life didn’t seem fair or right. The home where the door was always open, as were the hearts and arms of everyone inside. And as my soul absorbs the sights, sounds and smells of these moments of time, I remember all the many pages of my book of life that have been written here.

After a delicious lunch and what seems like no time at all, we kiss and hug and say our goodbyes. I close my eyes, inhale deeply, and whisper to myself, “There’s no place like home.”