Home is Where the Heart is...?

So tonight I packed up to come home for the first extended period of time this semester. I was home for a day or two at Thanksgiving, but I tend to just visit for a few hours, then return to the comfort of my dorm. Sad, isn't it, that the phrase "comfort of my" is used with my cramped dorm room, and not the house I've had my whole life. It's not that I don't love my family, just that they drive me crazy a lot. Also, being forced to sleep on the bottom bunk, thereby hitting my head every morning, isn't exactly welcoming. I must admit, listening to [M]orning by Mae upon packing up enough for the month ahead and driving toward my house, I drove slower than I can recall ever driving on those streets. I looked to catch each red light, to prolong my arrival. I would rather be alone than amidst the chaos that is my family.

Earlier today, they looked at a new house. Probably the millionth house since I was in 5th grade. Brandon said "we're probably gonna buy it" but neither of my parents was anymore thrilled by this one than the last. Another failed attempt. As of late, the anticipation has been steering most of the conversation held in this house. "In our new house we can..." "You'll be able to put that in our game room..." "There's no need to do... we'll be moving soon." 

How frustrating is such conversation! I wish I already had money, so I could buy them a nice house and end 90% of our redundant discussion. 

Then I wonder, will having a new house, a place to spread out and breathe, to properly store all of our unnecessary "stuff," really make us happy? Will we be able to function as a normal family, like we once did, if we have more room? I sure hope so. It's been too long since I've been truly excited to be home.