The Ever-Alluring Sense of Home
The key to effectively chasing after a perfect home.
Hello readers! You may have noticed that we took a month or so off from writing and sharing articles here. Between the two of us and our families, we have had many things demanding our extra attention (surgery, early pregnancy, homeschooling, appointments, birthdays, work deadlines, etc). Taking October off gave us some extra time to attend to all these things, but we are excited to be back, writing and sharing with you.
A few things to note: we will be drawing the winner of our giveaway this Sunday! Now is your chance to share with a few extra people who might be interested. And are you a writer or artist wanting to share some of your work with us? We now have submissions open for all kinds of work. Please consider submitting your work to share with our readers! If you have any questions about submissions, please send us an email (mirabiledictumag@gmail.com).
I am no stranger to inspirational interior design (in fact, it is the most regular category I contribute to on Pinterest). The idea of an intentionally curated home that reflects its owners’ core values, hobbies, and passions is one I aspire to: I’ve been known to send my friends articles documenting beautiful homes I’ve discovered while planning my own.
Since we bought our farmhouse, I have thought about how each room will represent us. The iconography reflects our faith, but also my love for Eastern European culture and history. The wood stove is a reminder of John’s childhood, and incorporates self sufficiency and hard work into our daily routine. I have spent hours deliberating on what artwork to buy for our walls, and what colors to incorporate into each room.
None of these things have made our house feel more like a home, however. For all the beauty it inspires and charm it contains, the design and decor of our house has not made it into home for us. The feeling of arriving home is a joy unlike any other, and as I’ve watched that joy wash over Klaus every time we walk in the door, I have begun a mental list of the things that make our house into our home.
Home is doing the dishes, and folding the laundry. You can only do dishes in the same sink so many times before you feel at home in the kitchen: you know how to set the faucet so that the water temperature is just right, you know where every clean, dry dish gets stacked away, you know what the view out the window above the sink looks like at every time of day. It is only at home that you know which drawer the socks go in, which clothes are hang dry, and which laundry detergent will get out that pesky stain. This is not to say that these things are beautiful or enjoyable, but if you find yourself familiarized with them, you have left a house and entered a home.
Home is knitting a blanket in a chair by the fire. You know the chair: it is where you sit with your morning cup of coffee, or late at night, buried in a book. It is where you sit when your house is full of guests, where you read your children their bedtime story. Picking up your knitting and a cup of coffee and a good book in a waiting room is comforting because it transports you back to your chair by the fire at home, where you sneak those illusive moments of peace in an otherwise hectic day.
Home is where the piano is playing. It doesn’t have to be played well. More often than not now, my daily serenade is the tinkling of keys that Klaus plays as he balances against the piano and plays note after note at random. Growing up, the piano played the same pieces over and over again as all five of us practiced for our weekly lessons. It is only at home where you sit down at the piano after years without practice, just to stumble through a piece or two.
Home is where you move about with ease. Before the back door closes, Klaus begins to smile, and kick his feet. Undoing the carseat is a wrestling match against his enthusiasm to make it to the ground, and as soon as he is set down, he crawls off in a frenzy. He goes from room to room in glee, and so do I. Only here can I set the diaper bag down and walk away unconcerned. Only here can I put on a pot of coffee for myself, grab a snack from the fridge, throw a log onto the fire. I am free to move about as I please, and Klaus is free to roam off on his own.
I still dream of the perfectly crafted home: there will be a clawfoot tub and a painting on a mantlepiece. There will be a farmhouse sink and warm yellow walls, an espresso machine and a mudroom. Even with all these things, however, it would not feel like home until these simple routines, these simple freedoms of home are what provide true relaxation, comfort, and a sense of home the moment you walk in the door.
"Home is knitting a blanket in a chair by the fire." YES! This is why I insisted on wingback recliners for our living room. I also do some of my hand sewing in the TV room and on the patio. But it's in my wingback chair, with my feet up and a beverage at my side, that I feel at home.
So true! As parsonage dwellers, we’ve mostly lived in houses that leave much to be desired, and yet there is still that sense of home.