What Home Means to Me

Home is the place where my family resides and where my parents laughs fill the air, and my dog’s barks send the birds to China and back twice. The fish in my brother's fish tank soar out of the water. I bet if they tried they would touch the tippy top of the Burj Khalifa. In my house during Christmas, you can hear the crinkle of wrapping paper with snowmen making snow angels on it. Home is where my mom and dad are making a ruckus with the pots and pans while cooking a warm dinner. In my house dog hair is EVERYWHERE. I swear we got a new pot and opened it for the first time and dog hair was already in there. I also think if my dog, unfortunately, died my family would still find dog hair ten years later. Home looks like a big loving family that shares unconditional love with each other. In my home, if you look out the window to the front you will be greeted with a large red maple tree in the fall, to the back a garden with red poppies in the summer. If you came to my house you have a three in seven chance that we would be having pasta for dinner. The delicious savory sauce that I can't get enough of is homemade by my mom and nonna. Home also tastes like warm buttery popcorn that my dad made in the same pot I swear the dog hair was in. In the winter my home tastes like warm thick Irish stew so good it could be served in heaven no problem. My home feels like a large and comforting hug with my family members on a Friday evening. My home feels like the large hairy dog that I know and love with all my heart. Home feels like a long and small comfy bed in my room with big solid pillows that I know I'll sleep with that night. Home feels like a warm sleeping bag that incases my whole body.