~What Home Means To Me~

I was tagged by the lovely Debbie at Random Musings to describe what home means to me. I am usually quite horrible at responding to being tagged but this one peaked my interest.

When I was younger, teenage years, I didn’t like home.  This was due to the asshole step-father who resided there and made everyday a wonder of what was going to set him off.  All I wanted was to go t0 my friends’ houses, my friends who had normal parents and where no one was walking on egg shells.  But for some reason my mother insisted that I needed to be “home“.  I’m sure it’s because my step-father wanted no part of me to experience happiness.

When I left there and moved to Las Vegas, NV…I moved in with my dad while I attended school.  And as much as my dad went out of his way to let me decorate and redecorate and paint and repaint that house, it was still his house.  I have to give the man kudos, he let me put teal carpet in my room and the living room and even teal and white linoleum throughout the kitchen, dining room, and hallway.  Yes the 90’s were all about teal and mauve…blech!

90s home decor mauve teal
The next place I lived was a condo in which my then husband and I shared with a roommate.  A roommate who’s boyfriend eventually resided there as well…rent free and enjoyed lounging around in his underwear and never cleaning up after himself.  He also loved leaving the condo with every light on, the washer and dryer running constantly, and one time I came home to find he had left the gas stove on.

Let’s fast forward to the present because if I were to go through every place I’ve lived or called home this post could become long, drawn out, and boring.

Home for me now is where the family, in which I have created with my husband, all live together.  It’s not the sticks or stucco that create the walls but the screaming laughter that rings throughout them.  It’s not the tile or wood that make up the floors but the tiny footsteps I hear throughout the day and sometimes late at night, slamming running across them.

Oh let’s cut the crap!

It’s the kitchen in which I slave away trying to cook good meals for my family to eat, only to hear my husband give me an opinion which I didn’t ask for.  **puts tongue in cheek**

It’s the piles of laundry, toys strung from one end of the house to the other, dust that always seems to land on a constantly moving fan, blankets never on the beds in which they belong, dog hair…dog fucking hair EVERYWHERE!


home memories mess


The syrup and jam lurking in crevices of the kitchen that I inevitably stick my hand or more likely step my foot in.  It’s the never ending bundles of socks stuck in the cushions of the couch and shoved under beds and in drawers where clean clothes lie.  Like seriously could someone please explain to me how it takes less effort to shove a sock in a drawer than to just PUT IT IN THE HAMPER?!?!

home mess messy heart
It’s the collection of empty soda cans that my husband likes to accumulate on his nightstand and the toothpaste splattered across his entire mirror like he was trying to practice splatter painting while brushing his teeth.

It’s the bedroom in which my 15 year old son resides in…one must never go in there….EVER.

teenagers mess kids rooms
Even as I sit here writing this post and my eyes somehow wander over to our poor, pathetic, dry, dead tree that if so much as a spark from a candle landed on…it would light up like the Griswald family Christmas tree.  The kids have rearranged every ornament and I’m quite certain the tree had been pissed on in the wild…no fab pine smell this year.  But it’s our tree, in our home, and it only has a few more days to go.

My home is where my family is busy making messes and memories.  Where in the midst of all the chaos I am reminded that all the noisy insanity is better than being alone and going insane from the loneliness of silence. **imagines herself in a nice hot bubble bath, glass of wine in hand, silence**. “MOMMY?!?!”

Back to reality…the reality that this is my home and it’s the best place where I can be myself, lounge around in sweat pants with holes, have messy hair, cry, laugh, fart, be an absolute bitch, and my family will still love me.

I won’t tag anyone for this post but if it peaks your interest enough to write about it please leave me a link in my comments.


I am linking this post with the following fabulous linkys…

A Bit Of Everything
My Kid Doesn't Poop Rainbows

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I am a mother of 5, a wife to 1, and a fully certified domesticated momster who likes to blog about motherhood, marriage, and anything else that pops into my crazy head all with a side of sarcasm and a glass of wine.

26 thoughts on “~What Home Means To Me~”

  1. I absolutely love this! You are so right – it’s the noise and mess and sometimes the utter chaos that makes it home. Where everyone is laughing and shouting and coming and going. I love the last part as well, where you can just let go and not be worried because the people there will still love you 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  2. lol I love your posts & how you cut right to the reality – the laundry, the slaving in the kitchen. That’s what makes a house a home and keeps the family together & healthy. This was fun to read about your home history. Have a wonderful Christmas, Trista!! x

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I really adore this post and YOU! You have a beautiful candid writing style! “Home” is family for me too. I love the realness you pose with the mention of “in the midst of all the chaos” being the place we connect with others and discover togetherness. I hope your holidays have been wonderfully joyous. Happy New Year!

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Loved this brilliant, raw and honest post! I had to giggle at the 15 year old part – shudder…let’s just say I know what you mean and yes, the last bit – “sweat pants with holes, have messy hair, cry, laugh, fart, be an absolute bitch, and my family will still love me.” …that sums it all, doesn’t it? Being able to fart comfortably, without shame or cover, is the epitome of home. Thanks for linking with #abitofeverything

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I used to have horrible OCD and my house always looked like something out of a magazine. Then I had kids. At first I drove myself crazy trying to keep up with everything and then one day I just realized that who was I really doing it for? My friends didn’t care if the house was messy cause they had kids too and understood. I still do deep cleaning a couple times a week … one half at a time …but as far as the daily clutter goes… I tell myself that my kids are busy making memories and I don’t want them growing up and feeling like I never let them just be kids and be messy. So nice to connect with you Jennifer, I look forward to reading more of your blog.


  5. I’ve always moved a ton. My parents moved five times before I was five. I’m no different. My boy will have at least three homes before his second birthday. For me home is where I set up my meager trinkets and lamps. I hate overhead lighting. The Mummy thinks I’m mad but agrees I’m good at making our rented places feel homely.


    Liked by 1 person

    1. I really do think that all that really matters is you’re surrounded by the ones you love. I do enjoy my space though. When we go camping I realize there’s something about 6 people in confined quarters that I don’t like lol. Thanks for hostessing! I’ll be over in a bit to comment …it’s on my list for tonight. Little behind in my blogging due to kids wrestling schedules and T-ball sign ups the past 2 days.

      Liked by 1 person

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