This Weekend

I wondered to myself if I'll ever get tired of coming home. Is it something that's possible? Will my home ever stop feeling like "home" to me? Will I ever not breathe a contented sigh of relief as my dad cruises over the hill outside town?

The houses and streets I am so familiar with finally come into view after what seems like such a long time has passed. In only a few weeks, I have experienced enough ups and downs to feel like a completely different person coming to a completely familiar place. I begin to feel like myself again. 

I can still find the beauty on the streets I've walked down too many times to count.

My family is still hesitant to try new recipes that I'm super excited about - but they'll eat them anyways, even if just to appease me.

My grandma still amazes me with her collection of recipes. I am slowly working my way through her boxes, binders, and envelops filled to the brim. Some dishes are new to me, and to her even, and some are old favorites. I've started a large pile to copy for my own collection.

Besides the new recipes, I got to meet a new member of our family. Hank, my sisters red lab who is soft, rambunctious, and full of love and all that other goodness that makes puppies so absolutely adorable.

Hank in comparison to our great dane, Karma

After my whirlwind 48 hours spent at home, surrounded by my family and friends, I decided that no, it simply cannot be possible. One does not outgrow home. Not when home is the source of such wonderful things.