Home and pink.
That’s this week’s photo challenge.
I got all sentimental and crap when I started writing this post, then my mood went straight to hell.
I just read the post again and it sounded like one of those Facebook posts that your mother in law sends you. I’m sure that you know what I’m talking about.
Dear Kim and gang,
The weather here in Florida is absolutely gorgeous. We really wish that all of you were here. We miss you so much and can’t wait to see you all in May.
By the way, Shawn’s cousin died at 1:30 this morning. You should have heard the gurgling towards the end. Poor thing.
Anyways, give everyone a big squeeze from us.
Love yous xoxo
Facebook: the only way to break bad news in a non-awkward telephone call.
That’s how we found out that his grandma and his uncle had passed too.
Old people are dangerous with technology. A few weeks ago, my mom learned the art of texting. Lord help us all.
She will text me something like, “How was grandson’s school? (smiley face, winking face, big grin face, heart, wine glass)”
I’ll text her back and then 45 minutes later she responds with “LOL”. I’m fairly certain that it really did take her the entire 45 minutes just to find the caps button.
My youngest brother told me that if I gave our mom his number he would seriously choke me.
My mom and dad just moved into my grandma’s old house which is awesome since their fridge is only 5 minutes away.
Do you ever notice when you go to your parent’s house the fridge is the first thing you gravitate to?
“Oh this is a nice surprise Kimbers!”
“Yea, when was grocery day? Did you buy the soft oatmeal cookies?”
She always does.
When I moved out 10 years ago, “home” got a new address.
It’s where I became a real adult with real responsibilities and thinking how fucked up it was to have to buy my own toilet paper.
Home is where the heart is they say.
Growing, thriving, supporting, laughing, crying, holding, hoping, togetherness, family, peace, safety, and love.
That fluffy stuff?
Can happen anywhere.
My heart isn’t confined by 4 pumping chambers and plaster walls and a fence that my asshole dog tried to chew down.
It’s wherever my feet are planted in the moment.
It continuously expands year after year.
But no matter how far my soul will wander, my home will always be where my mom’s fridge is.
(And I hope that my boy will always find his way back to mine.)
Happy Mom’s day to all of you beautiful women out there.
Ps. Fuck pink. Our house bleeds blue and dirt.