Coming Home.

A person's relationship with their parents is such a strange, yet predictable progression. As an infant, a toddler, a child, you want nothing more than to be hooked around your parents' ankles - figuratively and sometimes even literally. As an adolescent, as a teenager, you throw temper tantrums and lose your mind on a regular basis and complain that "nobody understands" followed by the occasional "I hate you!" You can't wait to get out of the house, be on your own. And then you grow up, and you move out. And that's when you realize that your parents are actually freaking amazing.

Well, I kind of already knew that all along, even as a whiny "misunderstood" teenager. But I've been thinking lately just how lucky I am to live so close to my parents. Seriously, I live 20 minutes away. Maybe 25 with bad traffic...and I live in Tampa Bay so let's get real, traffic is a constant kinda thing. But seriously. From helping out with newly adopted Einstein to heart-to-hearts over a hot cup of English tea, coming home is the equivalent putting on my favorite pajama pants and wrapping myself up in a sweater blanket (ahem...that means it's awesome). 

I went home four times in the last nine days. I voted with my mom. Picked up groceries and Food in the Wall (Panda Express...long story). Watched Einstein and our family poodle Micki play tug of war. Snuggled in my favorite love seat with my Pinterest iPad app and just reveled in the comfort of home. I am so grateful to have a family that makes coming home my favorite part of the week. XO