For those of us who moved away from our hometowns for college, jobs, etc., it's sometimes a lengthy process before we stop referring to where we grew up as "home." It's taken an even longer amount of time for me to answer the "where are you from?" question with anything other than "San Diego." After all, I live in Atlanta, and I really like it here, but with just three years under my belt I don't feel like it's made a big enough imprint on me to say that's where I'm from. (I'm sure I give it way too much thought.) If there's enough conversation, I'm able to say that my husband and I moved here from Chicago (another formative place for us), and that I grew up in San Diego and he in Buffalo. I feel like this is really the complete picture, not just for us but also for Clare and Danny. We are all fortunate enough to see San Diego and Buffalo quite frequently, and in many ways they are both like other homes to us. As the saying goes, home is where the heart is.
That said, after a whirlwind six weeks of being on the road, it was nice to wake up in our own house this morning. The Annual Summer Grandparents Tour has come to an end. It was truly lovely, although next year I'll spread it out a bit more. Because at the end of the day, our kids answer the "where are you from?" question with "Atlanta" - and so they like to see it every once in a while!
P.S. My Grandpa Bob has been asking to see a picture of our house for a long time, so this seemed like a good time to post one.
