Home is where I kiss boo-boos on tiny extended fingers and blot tears from slippery cheeks.
Home is where I wipe the thick greasy layer of dirt from the bath tub and wonder daily how two little people can attract quite so much filth.
Home is where delicious smells are greeted by grateful exclamations. “Daddy. You’re the goodest cooker. I know why you’re a chef. It’s because you make the food better.”
Home is where I read stories to exhausted goblins who fight to stay awake, determined not to miss out.
Home is where messes spring up like mushrooms after the rain.
Home is where I look into eyes that love me exactly as I am.
Home is where my family is.