It’s no secret that I love my home. I always have. When I lived with my parents, that was home. I loved being there. If I was ever asked, “Where’s the best place you’ve ever been?” I would answer without hesitation, “My grandma’s house.”

I am a home person. My home now, with Zach, is my safe place. I love it fiercely. I literally give thanks for just about everything about it from Mal (the second great love of my life) to the still-working washer and dryer we bought on Craig’s list for $100.00 (that would be for both, you guys!–knock on wood) daily in my prayers. I’ve loved all of my true homes with all of my heart.

I was the little girl who could never complete a sleepover. My poor parents always had to come get me in the middle of the night because I would call home crying because I had a “stomachache.”

I wanted to be back in my own house, in my own bed, where my family was.

best place ever

When I was in grade school and went home crying, nobody ever made fun of me.

In fact, I was never looked at as strange or weird. Maybe that was a sign I had good friends. Understanding friends. Friends that knew, Sharlee liked her own bed. Regardless of the reasons, the fact of the matter is, I was never made fun of for getting homesick until I got married and went to Girls’ Camp. And then, the judgements came.

It’s probably pretty clear that I am a little bitter about this. I am. I try not to be negative on this blog and even though there are some not-so-positive feelings on this topic, I’ve been thinking about home lately and that’s where I’d like to focus some of these thoughts instead of on the negative.

I was at camp the first year and I had only been married six short months. Being away from Zach and being unable to talk to him hurt my heart. The same could be said if I had been sixteen and unable to call home to my mom. (In fact, before Girls’ Camp Mom called me both years to say goodbye and both times I bawled on the phone.)

I felt like these ladies were making fun of me in the sense that they thought I was too wound up in my husband (as a newlywed should be and I have news for some people, Zach and I will be forever newlyweds). I thought they maybe thought I was too needy and that I couldn’t handle it alone. Who knows what their rationale for questioning me and talking about it amongst others in the ward was. Who knows why it stuck them as so odd that it needed to be brought back and discussed? That they needed to question me about it? Who knows.

All I know is that there was a man in our ward who approached Zach and told him he was one lucky man. I know that my bishop approached me and said it would be nice if more people liked their families as much and that he hoped I never lost that love of home and family.

It doesn’t matter what they think, good or bad, though, because I know the truth. The truth is, I always have been and always will be a girl who loves her home. A girl who loves the comfort of knowing the place she’s laying down at night is clean and that the people she is eating her meals with are people that know her to her core and love her anyway.

burn notice nerds

I am a girl who has a grateful heart and a different perspective than most. Yes, I’m sensitive, but I truly believe there’s more to it than that. When I was little and my mom would take a week off of work for the holidays or something, I loved it. When she went back to work, I cried. I cried! I was a little girl and my life wasn’t changing but after  having my mom home with me for a week, I cried when she had to go back. Even if I was in school.

Yes, I had maybe a tad bit of an attachment to my mom. But I really think is that even in my youngest years, I truly understood that I was blessed. I was so lucky. I think my tears were of joy for the love that I felt so strongly in my home growing up. I didn’t recognize them as that at the time, but I do think there was definitely joy in there. My heart was overflowing with emotions and so I cried.

Of course I was sad, too. I recognized that my days wouldn’t be the same. I recognized that those days with mom home were numbered and I learned early on to treasure them.

That is me. It’s how I was raised and I am nothing but grateful for that full heart I was given. I am even more grateful that I have been able to take that appreciation for treasured moments to my marriage. I know that every season of our marriage is numbered. I know that our days together are numbered, though I hate (HATE!!!) to think about that.

I know that every day I get with Zach is a blessing. And so yes, I cry at the end of long (or short) weekends. I cry at the end of vacations. And I hate being away from him.

can be away from him, but I don’t want to be without him. And there’s a big difference there.

And I’m quite okay with the fact that I chose someone I don’t want to be without. In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s the way it’s supposed to be.