I look around me and what I see is almost depressing. A sofa with its upholstery spilling out; a victim of the trampoline practice of my kids. Walls covered with scribbles of every color, form and size. Paintings lovingly collected over the years groaning under an inch of dust. Piles of books and puzzles on every available surface threatening to fall over any moment. School-bags and laptop-cases strewn all over, every chair booby trapped with Alien monsters.
I should be depressed, but I am not. This is Home, and it is those who I love that have made it so.