The joyful chaos of a family home is something I dreamed of, and it remains the place I’m happiest and most at ease. There’s nothing better than puttering around my kitchen while the kids make plasticine animals at the table and my husband wanders in and out of the backyard, commenting on the state of the grass. It’s always too dry, a little long, a bit patchy here and there; my husband thinks about the yard more in one afternoon than I have in my entire life. In many ways, domesticity is heaven. It’s comfort and warmth and habit, a place of acceptance and abiding love. Home is where the heart is, and my family is what fills my heart.
That said, I regularly fantasize about running off into the woods alone.