Caught myself in a moment while sitting on the bottom step of our stair yesterday. While putting on my shoes, I noticed the sun casting interesting lines of light on our space, and I had this strange reality check. I leveled my chin enough to actually sit back and notice our living space and it hit me--I live here. This is our home. Crazy how it took four solid months for this wakeup call? Honestly, people stop by and often rave about how "me" this place looks upon entering. I immediately reject the statement out of fear that it that means it lacks my husband's taste--but then I realize every piece and part of our living space is so us. The pieces and parts represent things we've experienced together. I glanced up, took a deep breath--a sigh of relief, almost. Because it's like that saying about never noticing a good waiter or waitress: I didn't realize how comfortable I had gotten here and how homey it feels to us because I guess we're too busy being comfortable and "at home." This is home now. And I'm glad I'm done with the chase to make it feel that way.