My home is very normal, modest, and rented.  To some this means it isn’t ours as we will never own it, but I believe that my home is not about the bricks and mortar it is about the people and love it contains.  It doesn’t matter how posh the hotel we stay in, I always miss the comforts of our hearth and home.

Home is where the heart is.

This is a well used phrase isn’t it? I don’t know about anyone else, but I believe this to be true.  My home is a place of love, safety and acceptance, oh and animals.  We lost our dog a few years ago and before then, whenever you entered our home you were welcomed by a large yellow labrador.  His exuberant welcome is something we, Mr H and I miss keenly to this day.  Now when we walk in, we are greeted by our two cats.  They welcome us with tall tails curved at the end (cat speak for I’m happy) and by scratching their scratch posts; also cat speak for I’m happy. Mr H prefers the dogs welcome.  I don’t blame him.

I don’t think we credit animals enough for the love they give.  Our dog hugged me when I found out my dad had died, he stayed by my side and he comforted me.  During my deepest depression he sat with me.  Without him I don’t think I would have recovered as quickly.  Our home has never been quite the same without him.  Losing him broke our hearts.

Hearth and Home

I met Mr H in 1995 and in 1998 he moved in with me.  My home felt right again.  I had someone who’s first thought was me, someone willing to raise my son as his own; something his biological father told me would be impossible, because I was not desirable enough to make up for having ‘baggage’.  Yes he called his son baggage.

We, Mr H and I, built our home together, and we filled it with love and laughter.  We have endured a lot, survived a lot, and we have done it together.  Always together.

Home isn’t a place.

At night when we are watching TV before sleep, Mr H will often reach out and touch me.  A hand on my leg.  These little touches are so important, they remind me he is there, provide comfort and reassurance.  While a safe place is important, four walls and a roof does not make a home.  Love makes a home.  In Mr H’s arms I am home.  His touch soothes and calms.  Where-ever he is, that’s my home.  I have often thought of what I can do without; TV, internet, mobile phones, I don’t need any of these things.

What I do need is Mr H, to know my children are safe, and my furbabies. If I have and know these things, I am home.  When Mr H has his arms around me, well that’s my favourite room, wrapped in a soft loving blanket.

 

Sweetgirl x

Hearth and Homes Sweetgirls Journal Submissive wife
Touching is so important.
Food 4 Thought 132

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