For me, home is a person, not a place.
My circuits have blown
I know it’s self-imposed
And all I have shared, and all I have loved
Is all I’ll ever own
But something has changed
I feel so alive
My life just blew up, I’d give it all up
Oh, oh, oh, ten thousand miles left on the road
Oh, oh, oh, five hundred hours ’til I am home
It is by complete coincidence that this song always comes on, as I am nearing home. No, I haven’t been away for 500 hours or travelled ten thousand miles, but sometimes it feels like it.
For me, home is where the heart is. It is also a small three-bedroom house in a moderate town called Ashford in the UK. The location and building are not what makes it home, it is who is waiting for me.
Perched on the back of the sofa looking out of the window is my beautiful two-year-old daughter. She is what makes a home for me. The way she tries to ignore me when I get home. Mummy has left her and has to pay. It doesn’t take long before she can’t resist a cuddle and she is in my arms.
The other thing I love is our little routine at the window before I come in. She puts her tiny hand on the glass and waits for me to do the same the other side.
It is something, I will always remember.
Being a Working Mum is My Hardest Job Ever
I leave the house at 7 before she has even woken up. She Facetimes me when she wakes up. I don’t then return home until 5 pm. It is a long time to be away from the one person that keeps you grounded and is home.
I consider myself one of the lucky ones. I leave my little one with her other parent. I have a deep built respect for parents who have the anxiety of leaving their children with someone else. Leaving her with her other parent though does not stop me missing her.
I miss home every minute of the day.
The IFS found more than three-quarters of women aged 25–54 in the UK are in paid work, reaching a record high of 78% in 2017. The rate has risen by 50% in the last four decades. I know I am not the only one who has to suffer this torment every day.
Home Is Where The Heart Is
This is true for my home, it is where ever she is. I could live in a caravan and she would always be home. I survive the separation through various methods. I spend quality time with her when I get back. The washing, cleaning and ironing can wait. I love looking at the mass of toys she has unearthed, in the day. They lay littered all over the floor.
It is these things that make a house a home. Mrs Hinch can do one, in my opinion, with her pristine house. Show me a house covered with toys and I will show you a happy child. If I wanted to live in a show house I would have stuck to one cat. I would not have increased the family, by three dogs and soon to be two children.
Home for me is a feeling, a feeling of contentment. Curling up on the sofa with my little girl, watching Thomas the Tank Engine for the thousandth time. Home is anywhere my little girl is. I enjoy every minute I spend with your her, a bedtime story, a bath any activity where it is just the two of us.
Home is most definitely where my heart is.