They say home is the single most important place in a child’s life, but what does home actually mean? I’ve been tagged by the lovely Morgan Prince at Morgan’s Milieu to write a post about what home means to me. It’s a jolly good question and I ought to know the answer because it’s fair to say I’ve had a lot of them.
As a forces child we moved home every time my dad had a new posting. Not just to another house or flat, but to a different town and even a different country. By the time I was 18 I’d moved home eight times and been to five different schools.
I think this is why I am so materialistic. Materialism is often held up as something bad and something to be ashamed of but for me – when I was dropped into a new house in a new town with a new school – it was the familiar, material objects at home that offered a sense of security and stability when the rest of my world had been turned upside down.
Getting home from my new school and finding our old Paisley-print sofa in the new living room or my favourite toys unpacked onto a new shelf was reassuring and comforting.
I particularly remember moving to Germany and all of our furniture had to go into storage in the UK. Our new flat was furnished with military issue furniture – utilitarian tables and chairs, functional chests of drawers and a scratchy, nylon covered sofa. There was nothing homey about it and it was like Christmas had come early when my dad’s posting was extended and my parents’ decided to get our own furniture out of storage.
I vividly remember the removal lorry arriving and the Paisley-print sofa being carried out. I can even remember it’s smell. Ironically, when I see that military issue furniture in charity or junk shops now I feel oddly nostalgic – just like I did with the Paisley sofa!
So for me home is the place where all my things are. Since becoming a mum a surprising amount of things from my childhood have surfaced, which given the number of houses we’ve lived in you’d have thought would have bitten the dust years ago.
But there are things my parents have carted from house to house, including:
My old moses basket which both BB and Little B got to sleep in. (It was also my mum’s moses basket, so goodness knows how many house moves it’s survived).
My old doll’s house which was the best Christmas present in the world ever when BB was given it for Christmas last year.
And my old rocking horse which sits in their bedroom. (Admittedly this has freaked out at least one of BB’s friends).
It’s things like these that make home for me, and if being materialistic is bad then so be it.
What does home mean to you?
Now it’s my turn to tag some fellow bloggers, so I nominate:
Kirsty at Busy Working Mummy
Robyn at The Years are Short
Laura at Life with Baby Kicks
Looking forward to reading all about what home means to you!
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