When you begin living with another family, or at least when I start living with another family, it reminds me of my own family.
It reminds me of how my dad and younger brother are in Mexico, doing awesome work down there.
It reminds me how my mom has been home alone all week, missing them, and working a bunch.
It reminds me that my older brother is working at the camp again, working with kids, doing something he loves, and something he is wonderful at — loving people.
It reminds me of my cat, and how her black fur is turning brown.
It reminds me of the fun we always have when the five of us are home. Especially now that us kids are older and have more experiences to talk about.
It reminds me that no matter where I am, home is not a building, nor is it a place, but a gathering of people who love each other.
It reminds me that I love to be with my family.