Been looking around my house a lot lately, trying to figure out why I’ve never really felt comfortable there. Even in our last house, I always felt like I was “visiting”. (Well, except for the dirty diapers and all that), but it’s a strange feeling to come home and think there’s some place else you belong. And I don’t mean that family-wise. Just that it doesn’t feel like *mine*. I sat and thought about it a bit, and I realized that so much of what we have – the furniture, the pictures, the decorative “stuff” that’s hanging about in bits and pieces – isn’t mine at all. And it never was. I’ve never really been furniture driven, for example. I like to look at it, but that’s about it. Mr myn loves window shopping for stuff – so, when it came down to it, for the most part I let… Read more