You might remember a fortnight or so ago I moved home to my parents house for 10 days whilst my Mum & Dad were on holiday. I was house sitting, I was cat sitting and I was looking after my mother's (extensive) garden and whilst it was only 10 days, I found it surprisingly revolutionary.
I mentioned in my 20 things that happened blog post that I found moving home quite unsettling, now that I have my own house. I have always referred to my Mum and Dad's as 'home' and I still do now I live with Joss. When I'm with him I say I'm going 'home' (my parents) and when I'm with them I said I'm going back to 'mine.'
I moved out officially in January though I'd been living with my boyfriends parents most of the week for around a year before that. It's a relatively short time to have not been living with the rents and yet, when I moved back for just over a week, I realised that whilst it's still my 'home', it kinda isn't.
I live 15 minutes from my parents, my office and my business is there and it's where I 'commute' 5 days a week to work. It's my childhood home, the only place I have ever lived (aside from uni obvs). My parents have been there my whole life, if you open the airing cupboard you can still see the wallpaper from my nursery in the room I shared with my brother. The interiors have changed, the garden has changed, we had an extension built and yet it's all still the same bricks and mortar from every memory.
I only left in January, I slept my last night there some time this year and yet, when I was there by myself I didn't feel overly like it was my home.
Being 15 minutes away I popped back over to the home I share with Joss every few evenings to spend time with him, see the dog and make some tea (turns out my Mum doesn't have food in I like anymore). And when I stepped through the door to my 'newish' house I felt like I was at home. My stuff is here, my clothes are here, my houseplants are here, my food is here, I know where everything is, it's organised the way I want, I do my laundry here....it's mine. I mean it's also Joss' but he doesn't know where anything is and don't even start with laundry.
This home is mine, it's where I feel comfortable, it's where I chuck on my trackies and fluffy socks and plonk on the sofa with my laptop. It's separate from my work, it's where my flake yoghurts are in the fridge and my Kardashians re runs are on the TV planner. It's where the dog nabs the spare bed and the cat tries to batter the door down. It's where Joss leaves e cigarette filters everywhere, where dust settles the second I clean, where all my shoes lie.
My Mum and Dad's house is just that- my Mum & Dad's house. It's where all my childhood memories are wrapped up, where I came back to for summer's after university, where I want to be when I'm ill. It's where my brother doesn't sleep and I don't sleep but when my niece loves to be. I don't know where the salt lives anymore, which saucepan to use and when the recycling goes out. It's a bed that was mine for 5 years, a bed that's no longer mine. It's where I work, where the cup of tea tastes a particular way and where I'll always go. It's my home and yet not my home at the same time.
I think I've pulled my big girls up and officially moved out. It only took me 8 months.