I've arrived in my new home, and I immediately feel pangs of homesickness.  Chicago is fantastic, but home is just home.  Nothing can quite compare.  I feel that through moving and going through crazy things with roommates, I've come to appreciate home anew.  Not having to worry about feeding yourself is amazing.  Having a clean, organized house is astounding. 

Here my house is anything but clean and organized; meal times are no longer regulated; there is no mother dedicated to taking care of the house.  It is really quite amazing how much work mothers get done.

Through the years I had become disillusioned with home--I loved it but didn't want to stay long because it took me away from being productive.  Now I suppose I've just gotten tired.  When I left, I was tired of cleaning up after people's messes, tired of moving, tired of being stressed out.  Home was like a soothing balm that healed everything.  It was like being wrapped up in a giant, snugly blanket on a cold, miserable day.  And though the blanket doesn't seem like that much, it somehow makes everything better.

Perhaps I am being whiny, but I am hungry and tired and I want my blanket back.