Due to some organizational changes and opportunities I have recently relocated my family away from what has been ‘home’ for the past 6 years.

Six years is a good amount of time to get rooted in friends, schools, familiarities, etc.  My family is lucky (for lack of a better term) in the sense my kids are young and their roots aren’t that deep yet.  My oldest is 7 and has one year of school (minus kindergarten) under her belt.  My youngest can adapt to anything (I think/hope).  It was hard to decide to do this move on several levels, but mostly for us – mom and dad – leaving everything we know to be comfortable.

Moving sucks.

We’ve been in our new place for almost a month now and in the third week my daughter had a bit of a breakdown.  This wasn’t spawned by random emotion but rather from her mother telling her we probably weren’t going to have friends over today to play (as she has for the past 3 weeks daily) and that the house needed some cleaning attention.  My daughter was not happy about this and it spawned her to claim that this was the boringest day in the world and the meltdown started.  Apparently she started to get angry about not seeing her other friends and then perhaps realized the sense that she wouldn’t be seeing them regularly anymore.

The next day my daughter reminded me of her episode and told me: Daddy, I got homesick yesterday. Which was a good opportunity for me to have a brief but serious conversation with her.  I asked her what happened, what she missed and a few other questions.  Her bottom line was this: I miss our home.  I have to admit that I’ve been missing our friends as well a lot.  But her comment struck an emotion in me and I quickly responded with this:

Zoe, as long as you have mom, dad and your brother, you are home.  Home is wherever we are a family.  When we are together, we are home.

I’m not sure if she understood or not, but it really made me think if I believed myself even.  I’ve contemplated it a bit and I think I do. 

For me, as long as I have my family, I’m home.