When I first got married, we lived in a suburb of Milwaukee. Every weekend, we’d pack up and say we were “going home.” For most people, “home” usually means where they live together. But for us, “home” was where the rest of our families lived. We’d arrive at a parent’s house on Friday night and stay until the very last minute on Sunday before returning to reality for another week.
When the kids arrived, you’d think things would change, but we continued our tradition of “going home.” Our family lifeline was so strong that our kids never had a babysitter outside of family members until the youngest was around six years old. If we wanted a night out, we didn’t interview local teenagers. Instead, we called our parents, and someone would willingly drive 1.5 hours to take care of everything.
Eventually, we wised up and moved our little family back to the bustling community of Beaver Dam—back to where the whole clan lived. Finding babysitters became even easier, and they were much closer. It wasn’t until we faced daycare challenges and found a wonderful girl to watch the kids after school that we finally allowed someone outside the family to babysit.
I often think about parents raising kids without the support of loved ones nearby, and I genuinely don’t know how they do it. My family is my everything.
Not everyone needs a lifeline to feel at home, but I do. My family is my constant, my support, and my joy. I may never be the person who can start fresh in a new city without looking back, but that’s because my heart is rooted where my loved ones are. For me, there’s no better place to be anchored. After all, home is where your lifeline is.
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