In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Home Turf.”
Name five things that make your house a home.
The obvious answer is the five beautiful people living in our house, but there are more materialistic qualities that make our house a home.
For example, the light bulb on the far left side of our living room that’s leaked water twice when both times my brothers’ upstairs bathroom flooded is a simple reminder of the lived-in feel our home has.
There’s also the picture gallery leading up the staircase that guides strangers through the growing-up of my parents’ children. The one of Gage toothless is my favorite.
The third thing that makes our house our home is the oven mitt in the kitchen that has a hole in the fingers from the time Mom caught it on fire after dropping a corn dog deep into the oven and reached for it to grab. No one uses that mitt anymore. It’s stuffed far in the corner of the kitchen drawer, but it’s followed us from our old house with that sorry corn dog to our home here.
I also love the piano in the office that the littlest insists on playing only at 10 o’clock at night. The keys are broken in the higher registers, and it’s terribly out of tune, but I love the imagination and passion it springs from the fingertips of my gifted younger brothers. We all learned to play piano on those keys. When Christmas inevitably rolls around, I have no doubt the family will be criss-cross around the piano listening to Silent Night flow from Grant’s dexterous hands.
Our couch is the backbone of our home, though all the other qualities are great. We’ve all sat there, napped there, played and flipped the cushions and other things that would drive your own mother crazy. It’s fit all 17 of my cousins at one point. It shares blankets and movies and cold feet, and popcorn, too. There are earrings under the seats and quarters from Gage’s old piggy bank, but that only makes it that much cozier. That couch has witnessed the way our house grew into a home around it.