Home Sweet Home

Several weeks ago, when my son came home from a weekend autumn camping, as soon as he entered our door, he shouted: “Hoooooome, sweet home!”

Maybe he sorely missed his comfortable bed after sleeping for 2 nights in a tent and on a hard ground. Or maybe he was yearning for a warm shower, as he had not showered for 2 days, for the campsite where they went to did not have shower facility. Or maybe he got sick enough from using the porta potty, as again they did not have restrooms with running water. Or maybe he was longing for his mother’s delicious home cooking. Or maybe he just missed home.

But this was not an isolated occurrence. In fact, every time we come home, whether it was from a rugged camping, or from a luxurious outing, from a short excursion, or from a long road trip, or even from a dream vacation, like Disney World and Hawaii, he still calls “Hoooome, sweet home!” as soon as we enter our current home here in Iowa.

That makes me ponder, do my kids really regard our home as a “sweet home?”

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Recently, my wife have transposed our old video cassette tapes into DVD’s and we watched a few of the tapes we have. I enjoyed specifically the ones when my daughter and son were much younger, when we first moved in to this house. Our first summer. Our first Thanksgiving. Our first winter. Our first Christmas. Our first Christmas tree. And other special events.

But there are also the “not-so-special” events that may have not been videotaped, but captured in my memory nonetheless. My kids running in the yard. Raking the fallen leaves and then jumping into the pile of leaves. Watching the deer in the yard, eating our flowers. My wife chasing the deer away. Plowing and shoveling snow (though that’s not my favorite). My kids making snow forts and igloos. The hurried breakfast. The more relaxed dinner. The bedtime rituals with my children. My kids playing music. And the times we just plain playing goofy.

We have lived in this house for barely 10 years, yet I am already packing so much memories in this home, that will last a lifetime. I know I have cherished memories from our home in Sampaloc Manila where I spent more than 25 years of my life. But those memories are now being rivaled in this home where we currently live.

As I looked into every corner of this house, there’s a fond and loving memory attached to every nook of it. The porch. The stairways. The kitchen. The family room. The sun room. The basketball driveway. The yard. And even the guest bedroom, where my mother who have recently passed on, spent several months with us, every time she came for a visit.

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Yet in the end, I don’t think it is the house itself.  Rather it is the people that we surround ourselves and share these beautiful moments with, that is really more precious. And those people, we call our family.

As we approach another Thanksgiving season, just like the Pilgrims of old, who celebrated and gave thanks for their new country and their new home, I join them, and as a pilgrim myself, in thanking God for our home sweet home.

Last night, as we experienced an early snowfall this season, and after driving, or should I say slipping and sliding in the snow, and after a few tense moments of treacherous travel, we finally arrived home safe and sound. After pulling up in our driveway and entering our garage, my son once again exclaimed, “Hooooome sweet home!”

Right after he got out of the car and entered the house, he also complained, “Mom, it still smell like fish in here!”

It is home alright.

(*photos taken with an iPhone)

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