Descriptive Essay About Home

I guess one might call it naivete, but at first, I simply associated home with the single definition of where an individual lived or as something synonymous to an address. As I progressed into high school, and moved yet once again, I realized that was not the case. Now I believe home is an atmosphere created by the people that are surrounding me. I can be anywhere and feel at home as long as I’m with those people. My home is ever changing and developing as new people come in and out of my life. The unforgettable memories and feelings of comfort and love created by the people surrounding me are the cornerstone of my idea of home.

What does “home” mean to you? To me, it is not just about the coziness, cleanness and tidiness, but a dwelling place together with my family offering security and happiness. This is where I began my own unique story and found love, hope and dreams.

What is home to you? Is it a place? Is it a person? Take a moment and close your eyes to think of what home is. For most people it maybe a house, a person, family, or any special place that is bonded with a memory. Home to me is where I feel and know I am loved, which is in my home, with my family, and my girlfriend, Alexis.

To get to my house I had to walk through waist high water. I was looking around and saw debris floating everywhere. I saw random people’s furniture, their cushions, and every random thing I could possibly imagine. When I was walking through the water, it was disgusting. The barnyards behind my neighborhood, sewage systems, and the blocked up pipes had all risen and was in the water. It was so disgusting! I couldn’t even see my shoes once I got to my calf.

Child care quality is a well-documented predictor of children's intellectual and social development. Family childcare providers care such as Heaven’s Little Angels in Hopkinsville, KY provide care for children in the provider’s home during traditional working hour. Parents choose family childcare homes because it offers a home-like setting. Childcare homes usually have a mixed age group with a collection of infants, toddlers and preschoolers; therefore, rendering a more family oriented atmosphere opposed to a traditional classroom atmosphere.

Home is something I didn’t even notice, or thought I’d miss, until I’d left for college. And then, I found myself longing for a home I hadn’t noticed was a home. Home feels warm, welcoming, like it should never be left. And yet, we have all left home. It used to be the middle roundtable with the four uncomfortable, a bit too large, chairs in the library. Between 11:10 and 11:40, everyday; home was lunch with my friends. Matt, on my right, and Clark on my left, scrambling to complete the homework due later that day. When I would nap, and my shoes would be stolen by Clark, only to wake up to find Matt had written quotes, not only onto the soles of them, but on my arms as well, in permanent marker. Home was the librarians fondly reprimanding Matt and me for eating in the library, yet still hating Clark for some inexplicable reason, or sneaking in without our school i.d.s, feeling so proud of ourselves when we didn’t have to sit outside. Aaron, relegated to the fourth, uneven chair, whenever he would occasionally visit, only for us to get into a long-standing argument over whether Gandalf or Dumbledore was more powerful, until Matt finally agreed with me, quoting the Silmarillion word for word. Which naturally progressed to quoting the movies at Aaron until he agreed, Clark confused and lost in the conversation. This inevitably led, to us lamenting about Clark not knowing any pop culture besides anime, then trying to boost his confidence, assuring he, out of any of us, wouldn’t

We’re late. It’s nothing out of the ordinary. We live three minutes away, yet every weekend we manage to be running late for Sunday morning mass. It’s always been this way, but my family doesn’t seem to want to change that habit, even if it means that we might get stuck with the worst seats: the ones in the front row. My friends don’t spend their Sunday mornings waking up early to put on their fancy Sunday dresses, a lot of them never had to. Majority of my friends’ families spend their Sunday mornings packing coolers with ice teas and musubis for the beach, or are able to sleep in until one o’clock in the afternoon. That was never the case for me; I’ve spent all my Sundays waking up early to attend service at a place where I am able to call my other home, my church. It’s the hospitality and the community, generally, the acts of love that make me feel welcomed.

Many things could’ve woken me up that morning: My own worry and fault for not being able to sleep, the moving trucks constant beeping reminding me of my soon departure, or the alarm my mom set the night before. Either way I was going to end up going to bed that night the same way, on the floor of my new house, miles away from my home. I woke with the battle of not knowing whether I was dreaming or if this was reality, and for a few short seconds before my conscious told me why I was up, I had completely forgotten the day ahead of me. I look around at my once poster filled walls of bad boy bands and teen movies. My poster board of movie stubs and notes I had passed around with my friends now perfectly packed up into categorized and clearly labelled containers. I have moved enough in my life to know the drill, though I thought I wouldn’t have to ever recall it again.

Where was home? I could never find it. Not in the old apartment I used to live in, not in the house I lived in now. The closest I remembered ever getting to the feeling of home was in my room, but it still didn 't feel right. It hid from me. It taunted me. I could never catch it. Then we went to visit a country, my home country. România. We landed in the main city, Bucharest. However, as the landscape settled, creating a picture holding familiarity, it stirred no sense of nostalgia. Nonetheless, it was still a sight to see, holding the wealthy, holding the beggarly, and the city dawning with art and vulgarity. The aforementioned was a horrid beauty, the Hunchback of Notre Dame in a beautiful Europe. But among all the grime, the city seemed

Linda Bennett once said “Our homes represent more than our financial assets; they have a deep and unique emotional meaning. Our earliest memories of home are often connected to our childhood.” To me home is where my family is, it’s where I was raised. No matter how far away you move from your home, it will always mean as much to you now as it did back then. Everyone’s home is the building block of the foundation of their future development as a person.

Home is a place where the good and the bad memories happen. Home is where the comfortable side comes out. Only problem is how does home define a person’s character? My favorite place to visit is my grandmother’s and grandfather’s house in Alabama, because it reminds me of my childhood, shows me how far in life I have gotten, and provides a sense of comfort.

When I first moved in there was a small crack in my wall, it wasn't so small that it was easily ignored but it wasn't particularly large. It was supposed to be filled in once I was fully settled into my new room. It never was. Every night I would stare into that crack in the wall, sometimes only for a few hours, sometimes until I could see the rays of sunshine filtering into my room through my window. Every night as I stared into my fractured wall I felt the minor gap in my wall stare back at me as I waited for sleep to encompass me. For almost five years, that crack in my wall was there as a reminder. Reminder for what? A reminder that sometimes there's only so much stress something can take before it begins to crack.

flower print shirts with black dress pants. She has hair that is as thick as a mop but yet still black and silky, with beautiful hazel brown eyes.

A home is the place of love and childhood memories. The ones you never forget, even if you don’t enjoy them right then, but laugh at when you get older. The ones you create with your family that make you closer together.

Like I have, if you haven’t already, you will be purchasing your first house. The budgets of what you can afford will vary, and not everyone is going able to afford their dream homes that we wish we could. Like I did some may have to find a home with potential and express their style to make it the way they want it, and create their “dream” home. Scrolling through Pinterest, labeling a board “future home” is what most girls do. While my “future home” may not be complete when buying it like I wanted it to, it is now mine. I have an open canvas to work with and endless ideas to help design everything I have ever wanted. Deciding what colors to go with for the walls, what textured carpet to but in the bedrooms, or what floors to