be it ever so humble

Ahhhhhh, we're home.

Thank goodness.

It was determined over this past Christmas that Birdie is, without a doubt, a homeboy.  This how Birdie refers to himself and his acute need to spend at least some time at home everyday.  Unfortunately for him, the way the holidays play out for us, there are several nights in which he must sleep in unfamiliar beds.  Unfortunately for his parents, we get to hear about the myriad ways this makes him unhappy.

Home is where all the rules and hiding spots are known.  It's where your best toys are and the computer that has the links to mama approved music videos on YouTube stored under the favorites tab.  It's quiet at home, unless you don't want it to be.  Its familiar and safe and warm.

It's where we keep all our favorite stuff.

Birdie was telling me about why he wants to be home, even when we are out at grandma's, where there is yummy and super sweet foods, people who he loves and a swack of new toys.  And he tells me it's because home is MINE.  He's the boss at home and he can get what he needs there, when he needs it.  He feels comfortable at home and able to relax and be himself without worrying about upsetting any grannies who don't feel well or accidentally breaking something that belongs to someone else.  Home is relaxing and restful.  It is, in short, where he poops.

I know what he means.  I am a homemama.  I love visiting.  But I have my isms also and if I can't do them, well, I get a little cranky.  Almost panicky.  I can only tolerate so much stimulation before I need to shut myself up in my room and quietly read something.  I am a classic introvert.  I've learned to cope with extended visiting by giving myself time outs, where I can checkout for a little bit and be someplace quiet.  Having small children to attend to, though, has somewhat truncated my ability to find time and space to center myself and during the past few years the holidays have proven to be especially challenging. 

An extended visit (by which I mean a day) will have me semi-crazed with need for my own space.  Usually, if I am pulled too far off center, I end up taking out my anxiety on The Man, who is like my walking and talking Home.  And he gets to hear about the myriad of ways that being overwhelmed and desperate for quiet, alone time makes me unhappy.

With Birdie and I both, there is over stimulation and there is also the need for control.  Birdie likes the kind of soy milk we have, not someone else's.  He likes the way mama helps him on with his boots and the way dad puts him to sleep (even when it's favorite uncle instead and he's been looking forward to seeing him for weeks).  Birdie wants to control everything and everybody around him.  Getting him to loosen up and accept alternate ways is something we work on at home with a good measure of success but almost completely impossible when we are out someplace else. 

I struggle with relinquishing control over the climate, the food, how the tea is made, what kind of flour is used, the turning on and off of appliances and the television.  Over the course of a day away from home I live a thousand tiny attempts to shake it off and say, 'Other people just have different ways than me and it doesn't make them bad and that's okay.'  Because I'm adult and stuff.

Until I'm not.  A problem usually occurs on attempt one thousand and one to self soothe and suddenly I've had enough and I just wanna go home!  Where I can crawl into my pajamas, make a proper cup of tea and, as my sister says, have chippie time without judgement.  

I love my family.  I love their presence, their quirks, their sense of humour.  I even love their houses. 

But.

There's no place like home. 
There's no place like home.
There's no place like home.