I am home for a week, and I love it. I love that things are always noisy until about 10 pm. I love that the bathroom is always out of toilet paper. I love that someone is always marching through in full camo suit, complete with war paint (if it’s archery season… blaze orange if it’s rifle). I love that there is always riotous laughter from the family room. I love that there are always 10,000 pairs of shoes taking over the foyer. I love that our new dog has not yet learned who actually belongs in the house and who doesn’t because every day it changes. I love that someone is always whistling, singing, practicing the piano, dancing, yelling, or even whaling away on the drums (in Rockband). I love that there are always coffee spots on the stairs and laundry in the basement. I love that my Mom is always there to talk no matter what just broke or who just made a mess all over the kitchen table. I love the pitter patter of little feet at 10:30 pm that should be in bed. I love the mass chaos that ensues when we discovered that our new dog was not as housebroken as we thought. I love the way the whole house magically gets dark and quiet every day at about 2:30-4:30 pm as innate “rest time” kicks in. I love that we always sit down to dinner together, and that no matter how messy the kitchen is or how busy the day has been, the house always smells delicious at about 5:30 pm. I love that someone is always able to whip up some delicious, homemade snack (dirty martini dip, butter cheese, fresh italian bread and crackers, anyone?) to accompany a rousing Scrabble or Canasta game. I love that sweet, peaceful feeling at night, when the house finally gets dark and quiet, and everyone is in their beds and all under the same roof, together. That’s when I sleep the best.