Right now, I have home-made chicken noodle soup simmering on the stove. I have a mocha coffee on the desk beside me. My children are just finishing vacuuming the house, and being rewarded for their work with muffins. At the moment, no one is fighting, no one is arguing. (Oops ... scratch that. Now they're fighting over who gets the last chocolate chip muffin.)
Our home is full of people and too much stuff, but it is also full of love. It's sturdy, safe, and warm. We live on my husband's family's land, in the house his grandparents built. It's heritage.
Tonight I will sleep peacefully (until pregnancy-induced leg cramps or a 2 am bathroom run awaken me), with my husband and all of my children under one roof. It won't be long before I won't be able to say that anymore. My oldest daughter will go to college next year, and one by one each little bird will fly from the nest.
I'm very thankful for our home ... in all its meanings ... both the physical shelter that it provides, as well as the family contained within it.