A bit back I wrote about how I felt home was where I came from as a child. That childhood house where I grew up before our family started our travels. I have since learned that each and every place I have lived has been "home" because people made it that way. When I went back to Wisconsin this past week I did not expect to feel that homey feeling. I thought I would feel like I was just visiting another place, but that was not the fact. I got to see places where I lived. Places that made me the person I am today. Just as the apartments in Libya have added to whom I am now as has the tin shack and termites in Guam. All of those places have lead me to the place I am now and the home I create for my children and me on a daily basis. So this is not just another house... all those places were not just other houses... what makes a home is what happens within the walls of that house. The love, the laughter, the silliness, the tears... if only the walls could talk and tell the stories of the homes they have been.