I miss the land of carpet and recliners, where the fridge is full of food I didn't make and tubs are full of cookies I didn't bake.
Where cookies are as close at hand as fleece blankets, and responsibilities are as far away as disappointments.
Where in-person silence is as good as animated phone conversations with my parents.
Where I can see four grandparents, 10 aunts and uncles and more than a dozen first and second cousins in a three-day span.
Where my sister and her husband are putting the final touches on the second floor of their home, but the first floor is warm and cozy enough as it is.
Where a crackling fire at my brother- and sister-in-laws' extends the holiday cheer into the new year.
Where things change fast -- not only the height of my 11- and 6-year-old nephews, but also Ohio State's so-called Ghetto Kroger, ghetto no longer, but rebuilt into a yuppie's dream grocery store.
Where I spend the week watching the entire first season of "Arrested Development" with my parents, in between eating, sleeping and reading.
Where I hear country music at home and alternative and '80s songs on the radio.
Where inside shiny boxes are presents I wanted and those I didn't even know I wanted.
Where I arrive and never want to leave, and leave when I've barely arrived.
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