Friday, June 3, 2011

Our definition of Home

Build a photobooth, we will come. May '11, after  a crazy 12 hours on the beach.
     A few days ago, my mom moved to Houston, Texas from Atlanta, Georgia. It's a funny feeling to not have a reason to occasionally visit the city where I was born and raised. Over the past four years, I'd escape to Atlanta for some R&R. A visit to mom meant I'd eat good food, do some good shopping, and stock up on shampoo. I still called Atlanta "home," because that's where mommy was.
   Now that I'm an adult (how did that happen?) and married, my definition of home has to change. To be fair, I haven't really lived in Atlanta for about 11 years. Greensboro felt temporary. Every day Shawn and I look around us we ask ourselves, "how did we get there?" It honestly feels like vacation, but its home. To me, home is where my Hubby is. And Bully. Now, can I get a million dollars so we can buy a Victoria Park home?

With our stuff.
  On the way to Florida we pick up my mom's breakfront and dining room table. These things are probably over 40 years old and solidly built. I'm glad that I can have them in my possession and little Shawlani willl grow up looking at the plates and opening the drawers. Just like I did.

I kept a couple of Atlanta plates. My parents used to sell these at our Underground Atlanta store, before I was born. I get a kick out of the pics of the Omni, Fulton County Stadium, and the Scream Machine. Oooooold school.

Have the best time in Houston, Mommy!

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