Writing Prompt: When was the first time that you realized that your home was not like other people's homes?
I'm guessing that this question is referring to the childhood home, but I'm going to refer the question to the present tense.
How my home is not like other people's homes. Right now. In my life with C and J.
Our home doubles as my photography studio. Luckily, C and I are both minimalists. We don't like junk or clutter or home decor. We don't like things that collect dust. We have photos and art hanging very minimally in our hallways, in the den, in J's room, and in the master bedroom, but our living room is very clear. Two walls of the living room are floor to ceiling windows, but the one wall that does exist is bare. We have an asparagus-green couch and a black-brown coffee table, both of which are moved for each photoshoot.
When our living room is not playing host to photography clients, my lighting equipment gets pushed off into the corners, where it stands like awkward statues, elbows and joints askew. Artwork in its own right. We have music equipment, photography equipment, books, light reflectors, and usually some kind of game on the coffee table. Box closed or box opened, waiting to be put away or about to be played. We are gamers. Settlers of Catan. Scrabble. Upwords. Chinese Checkers. Mind Trap. Trivial Pursuit. Risk. You sunk my battleship.
Three kids live here. J, an actual child, and C and I. From the outside, listening in, it must sound like a bunch of hooligans in here. Young hooligans. The Lost Boys.
I never want my home to be sad, or scary, or too serious. I want it light, and fun, and relaxing. Sombre and intense when it needs to be, appropriately timed. But usually, it's laughing and craziness and fun times.