Something about home. Something about BEING home. Just calms me down, and makes me feel comfortable. Everything about it, I love. My house is in no means perfect, big, expensive, or even clean for that matter. But to me, it's my favorite place in the world. I could go to Disneyland for a month, and at the end of that month, I'd be craving home. My house is warm, comfortable, homey, and all around just a nice place to be. There's dog hair everywhere, dirty dishes in the sink, and a crap load of shit in the guest room closet, but I wouldn't change it for anything.
When I moved up here, for the first few months, I would clean everyday and make sure things were perfect. But as time goes on, I seem to clean less and less (not in a gross way, I assure you!) It just seems to not be as important as I once thought it was. Home is home whether you clean everyday or you don't. It's home whether you cuddle up on the couch with your husband, or you cuddle up with a big blanket and wait for dinner to cook. It's the best place in the world, the most comfortable, and has the most love, as cheesy as that sounds.