I am home.

For the past three nights, I’ve been away for work.

For three nights, I’ve missed the sound of her breathing and the weight of her head on my chest as I’ve drifted to sleep.

For three mornings, I’ve rolled over only to discover that she isn’t there to snuggle as my body awakens for a new day.

For three days, I’ve missed her in ways I never knew possible.

When I hear the door open, I spin, soapy hands outreached and a grin on my face as she rushes towards me. I jump as she lifts and in an instant, all is well with the world.

We are wrapped up in each other, smiling like giddy school girls as we kiss, again and again, trying to make up for three days in a single moment.

I am so happy to be home.

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thankfulness

Each evening, we go around the dinner table and share both our favourite and least favourite part of the day; its an opportunity to revel in the joys and acknowledge the frustrations of the day. We also share something we are thankful for about once a week and I continue to be astounded by my boys and the gratitude they express for their home, their family and food in their belly.

home

Yesterday, after four nights at my parents home, I was thankful to be home, in my space and with my people.

As my girlfriend walked by, I reached for her and pulled her to me, so we could share the briefest kiss. Breathlessly, I whispered, I missed you; she smiled, responding with a simple me too.

She came with us to see my family and welcoming as they have been (and as much as I love them) it feels different. At home, there’s no hesitation, no question and no worry because there is no judgement or concern. At home, WE are free to be our shared US, to instinctually reach for one another with our bodies, our souls or our lips as the moment requires.

Home is so much more than the structure in which we live, home is the place that affords us the freedom to exist in our purest, truest and most authentic form. Home recharges us and provides a space to feel and to exist and if we’re lucky, home is filled with love and light and happiness.

I am thankful to be home, to hear my boys playing and laughing together, to sit around the table with my people and share the little things that make our days our own and I’m especially thankful that she has chosen to take a seat at our table.

They say that home is where the heart is and that’s absolutely true; my home and my heart are both so incredibly full and for that, I am eternally thankful.

*after publishing this, I realized it was fitting for the Daily Prompt: Partner

Today

Today, my boys let us sleep in for an hour and a half, because they were making surprises for us. We woke up to happy camaraderie and beautiful gifts. A hand drawn stick man family that made my heart swell with love and gratitude, a small handmade comic and a batman cutout.  Today, my boys showed us their love.

This weekend, I feel like we leveled up. In a moment when I couldn’t, I watched her interact with my boy, just as I would have; with love and honesty and a bit of toughness. We shared shy smiles of happiness as we dreamed of our shared future. I watched her solve a conundrum, and in her actions I could feel her feet so firmly planted inside the circus ring. Today, quite simply, felt like family.

Today, felt special, extraordinary and ordinary in the exact right way. Together, we relaxed and then together we prepared for our day in a way that flowed so naturally, so easily and so efficiently. Today, it was the little things reminding me that balance exists in our connection; our energy is shared yet remains unique.

This weekend, I had moments, when I needed her. She held me in her arms and stroked my hair as I felt the feelings and let things (that no longer served me) go. She found me  a moment of solace amidst a windstorm of chaos and today, I felt all the love for my boys, for my girl and for the adventure that we are embarking on.

Today, my future feels so fucking bright.

Breathless

I remember the first time I kissed a boy; I was 13, it was a warm summer night and I absolutely hated it. He pressed his lips pressed so hard against mine, his tongue invading my mouth and what I remember most clearly, is an overwhelming inability to breathe.

And in the twenty years that followed, I continued to hate kissing boys and generally avoided it. I convinced myself that my allergies and stuffy nose were the culprit of my distaste and my ex never questioned it. He also accepted that I wasn’t very affectionate and I hated snuggles, cuddles and touching in general.

I remember the first time I kissed a girl; I was 19, she was a friend and her kisses felt so right. Soft lips, sensual caresses and an instinctual familiarity and comfort that left me breathless. And somehow over the years that would follow, I would neglect to realize the difference between feeling unable to breathe and feeling breathless and more importantly, just who made me feel each.

This is just one of the signs of my sexuality that I ignored; I wasted years making excuses and choosing not to listen to my intuition and my instincts. I know now that I had it wrong all along, I wasn’t unaffectionate and I didn’t hate kissing, I hated kissing boys.

But where my girlfriend is concerned, I love all the kisses and always seem to need just one more. My girlfriend fills me with love and light and happiness, her kisses are like candy for my soul, filling me with a sweetness that I can never quite seem to get enough of, her touch awakens my nerve endings, sending tiny ripples of energy undulating across my skin.

In her arms, I feel like I’m finally home.

Proud to be Me

Every single day, my life changes and I happily change along with it. This week, something huge happened and it’s made me realize, once again, that I am not meant for normalcy, I am not meant to be defined by society and I most certainly am not like all the other girls.

In my town, single moms have a tendency to lose their homes, they downsize and they struggle to survive in their new reality. I struggle too, but it’s different. I struggle to ensure that my children are provided for both in my home and their fathers; I am the sole provider for my family, including my ex-husband.

This week, in addition to ensuring everyone’s needs were met, I moved into a house that I successfully mortgaged and purchased on my own. Owning a house has always been a dream of mine, and since I left my ex and gave him the house we had purchased together its been something I’ve been striving to accomplish. And now, the stars have aligned and I am once again a home owner.

Although I’d been working towards this monumental change in my life for some time, the reality of the situation still managed to catch me by surprise. I am a strong, independent woman who takes care of herself and her family and I alone have purchased a house that will become a home.

I made that happen; I remember my counselor explaining to me that by my very existence, I was an oppressed person. He explained that as a middle-class woman, of mixed ethnicity and questioning sexuality (I hadn’t accepted my gay at that point) no one had handed me any golden opportunities. He told me I had worked hard to achieve everything I  had and that I should be proud of all that I had accomplished.

But in that moment I felt anything but proud, his words felt like a forced acknowledgment of my circumstance. Yet since that conversation, I’ve found myself reflecting on his words on multiple occasions; especially now, I can recall the conversation so clearly. In the midst of yet another huge accomplishment, I finally see what he was trying to tell me.

I created the opportunity and the change that I wanted to see in my life and that makes me so incredibly proud to be me.