A few weeks ago, I drove silently to my parents' home, Caroline watching Shrek in the backseat. The boys were golfing and my parents knew "their girls" needed a warm dinner in their bellies and a hug or two. When I walked into their home, my mom gently took me by the arm and led me to my childhood bedroom. "Turn down service," she said, gesturing to the turned-down bed. "Sleep until supper." She closed the door behind me and took Caroline to finish making dinner with her. The room was dimly lit by a bedside lamp. The blankets were turned down neatly and when I sat down to remove my shoes, I realized the electric blanket was turned on and the bed was warm and ready for me. I hadn't planned to go to their house to take a nap, but I surely wasn't going to turn one down after a disastrous day of virtual-learning / working / mothering. I switched off the lamp, pulled up the covers, and closed my eyes. I was out instantly. An hour later, Caroline quietly whispered, "It's dinnertime" to me to wake me up. We had vegetable soup, corn bread (my dad's is the best), and chocolate poundcake by the fire. My parents hugged us both and set us on our way with travel cups of coffee and hot chocolate (and a bag full of leftovers). I got into the car and felt like a new person.
What a gift, to be loved. To be adored and for someone to care enough to comfort you when they know you need it. I shared this experience in my Instagram stories that evening and received hundreds of messages. Some from women whose mothers had done similar things for them, some who'd lost their mothers and missed these moments, and some who grew up without this type of mother but hoped to be one like this for their own children. My mom's amazing and my love for home, home-keeping, and nurturing hearts comes from her. I can only aspire to be half the mom she is, but I hope some of that shines through in who I am to my children.
The art of keeping a home and caring for those within its walls is my favorite part of daily life. Even when I begrudgingly empty the dishwasher for the eleventh time or am staring down a week's worth of laundry... I'm reminded of how important home is. Not just a house and how pretty or clean it is... but the feeling of home and what it means to be a place of rest and respite -- a safe place in an otherwise crazy world.
xo,
Emily
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