Last Sunday evening, our house went from a peaceful, sleepy state to one of utter chaos in about 30 seconds. And I absolutely loved it.
As I sat on the couch watching What Not to Wear, one of my guilty pleasures (don’t judge) the back door opened, and my youngest son Jacob exclaimed, “Mom? Dad?” I leaped up and was delighted to see him and two of his friends.
The visit was a complete surprise. I ran over to hug Jacob, Jason, and Colton. I called my husband John to come downstairs from his office to see everyone. Our other son Jonathon and his significant other Olivia followed.
Turns out Jason was back in Noblesville from California on spring break, so Jacob and Colton came down from Ball State to have dinner with him. The three of them are part of a larger group of friends they call “The Bros,” a name that has stuck since high school.
We caught up with both Jason and Colton in our dining room, while the rest of the group ventured into the family room. Everyone exchanged more hugs, fist bumps, and laughter.
As I watched and enjoyed the reunion, I realized I was witnessing one of my childhood dreams.
Growing up, our house was always the place where my friends would hang out. While it was a beautifully decorated 1920s bungalow, our house wasn’t perfect.
The main hangout space was our basement, which had 1970s dark wood paneling and worn carpet. But that’s where we got together to talk, have slumber parties, play cards and board games, or just watch movies. No one cared that it wasn’t magazine photo worthy.
I wanted my future home to be the same – a place where my kids and their friends could get together, enjoy good times, and make memories. And that’s exactly what has happened.
You’ve probably noticed my column is called Perfectly Imperfect. That’s how I feel about not just my life, but my home. While we love our Old Town Noblesville worker’s cottage, it’s not perfect. But I think it’s perfect for us.
Jacob, Jonathon, The Bros, and other friends of theirs throughout the years have always known they can come here to be together. I’m thrilled when they return to “the nest” to raid our fridge and pantry, make goofy drawings on our dry erase boards that I never erase, and just hang out.
When all of them left about an hour later that Sunday, my heart was full. I hugged my husband John and smiled. “It’s been a REALLY good weekend.” I murmured. He didn’t have to ask me why.
A special hello this week to one of my readers, Leah Johnson. Thank you for your kind note. You and so many others warm my soul and make me incredibly glad to have the honor of writing and sharing this column every week.