The Little Things That Make a House Feel Like Home

When I think about what makes a house feel like home, I don't think about the size of the house, the color of the walls, or how new the kitchen was.

I think about the little things.

I think about waking up to the smell of coffee, bacon and eggs. I think about music playing in the living room, family gathered around the dinner table, and the sound of laughter coming from another room.

I think about my dad dancing with me while I stood on his feet.

I think about my mom getting excited every spring because it was time to plant flowers in her flower bed.

I think about my grandparents, Sunday dinners, snow days, Christmas mornings and all the ordinary moments that didn't seem extraordinary at the time.

Those are the things that made our house a home.

The Sounds and Smells of Home

As a child, I would wake up to my mom brewing coffee and my dad making bacon and eggs—or his famous migas.

His migas were simple but delicious: eggs, white corn tortillas cut into bite-sized squares, a tiny bit of onion, lots of fresh jalapeños and tiny diced tomatoes.

I would sit at the table with my dad and little sister while my mom got ready for work. Then Dad would sit in “his” chair and wait for my sister and me to finish getting ready for school.

When he dropped us off, he would say, “Goodnight.”

My little sister would always correct him.

“Daddy, it’s daytime. Good morning!”

She didn't understand that Dad worked nights.

Those little moments have stayed with me all these years.

So has the memory of coming home from school and finding a recipe my mom had left on the table for me to follow. I would make dinner for when she returned from work and Dad left for his shift.

I still make some of those recipes today.

Every Friday night, we ordered pizza from Jake’s. During the week, my sister and I watched the same television shows with Mom.

On Saturdays, I would put cartoons on for my little sister while she waited for me to make her a bowl of her favorite cereal. I would sit and watch with her until Mom woke up and gave us our agenda for the day.

Sometimes we visited friends and family. Other days meant shopping, movies and eating out.

Our days were ordinary.

But looking back, those ordinary days were anything but ordinary.

Sundays, Music and Family

Sundays were special.

We went to church as a family and then went out for brunch. Afterward, it sometimes seemed like the house became a party.

My parents' friends and their families would gather at one of our homes, and we would grill together. Sometimes we even grilled out in the woods.

I never tasted a steak quite like the ones my dad grilled. Maybe it was because he would douse them with beer while they cooked.

Some Sunday evenings were quieter. Just our family.

I would help Mom make Dad's favorite meal: baby back ribs, mashed potatoes, a vegetable and a salad. We would sit together at the dining table, say Grace, laugh, talk and eat.

Those were my favorite nights.

Our home was also filled with music.

Bobby Darin, Chuck Berry, Jerry Lee Lewis, Marvin Gaye, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones and Elvis Presley.

A lot of Elvis.

We all loved Elvis, and we would dance to his music. I remember watching my parents dance around the living room while Dad sang along. Mom's face would turn red, and we would laugh.

Sometimes Dad would dance with me, too.

I would stand on his feet while he danced around the room with me.

I can still remember how that felt.

That is home.

The People Who Made It Home

Our home was filled with photographs.

Family pictures. Nature pictures. And plenty of photographs of Elvis because my mom and I both loved him.

Mom worked at a photo shop developing pictures. Whenever photographs of Elvis came through, she would sometimes print extras for us.

One photograph means more to me than I can probably explain.

My parents' wedding picture that is now hanging in my own home.

I love that.

A photograph that once hung in my childhood home is now part of the home I created.

It is a reminder that home isn't something that disappears when we grow up and leave. We carry pieces of it with us.

My aunt babysat us, played games with us and baked cookies with us.

My mom taught my little sister to play the piano.

And then there was Grandma.

My dad would sometimes surprise us by flying our grandmother in to visit. He even flew her in when one of us was really sick so she could take care of us.

Grandma would teach Mom to crochet while they sat cozily together on the couch.

She cooked her special meals and always made fresh flour tortillas. She baked cake-like sugar cookies and homemade cakes that, to me, were the best in the world.

And when we were sick, Grandma had her special home remedies.

She would put that tried-and-true Vicks on us and then bury us under blankets.

There is nothing that says home quite like a mom's and grandma's love.

Little Memories That Stayed With Me

I remember coming home from school and walking toward our front door.

Before I even went inside, I could smell my grandfather's cherry cigar.

I knew my sweet grandfather was there.

He would be lying on his side, as he often did, in the middle of our living room. He would be wearing his button-up sweater, dress slacks, dress shoes and fedora while puffing on that cigar.

He would laugh when he saw how excited my sister and I were that he had surprised us.

His hugs smelled like cherry cigar and spicy, woody cologne.

We loved it.

He would sit with us and tell stories about himself and my dad. Our eyes would get bigger and bigger as his stories grew.

Now that I'm older, I know those were stories only a grandfather would tell.

But they were our stories.

They belonged to home.

My little sister had a speech impediment, and for a long time, I was the only one who could understand her. I often had to translate for my parents and even for her schools.

She called me “Cissy.”

And even though she couldn't pronounce her “s's” correctly, she could pronounce them when she called for me.

That was home.

Snow Days, Christmas and the Backyard

Winters were another kind of special.

Sometimes we were snowed in for days. We stayed in our warm pajamas with the heater blaring while Mom and Dad made a big pot of homemade soup.

We watched television, listened to music, danced and played board games.

As it got darker, we baked cookies and made hot chocolate.

The house smelled like cookies and cinnamon.

Mom would simmer a pot of cinnamon sticks, orange peels and cardamom on the stove, filling the entire house with the most wonderful aroma.

When the snow finally let up enough, we would put on our snowsuits, make snow angels and go tobogganing together.

At Christmas, Dad filled our home with poinsettias because they were Mom's favorite.

Every Christmas Eve, he would hang money on the Christmas tree for Mom.

We also took thousands of miles of road trips to spend holidays with family.

And then there was our basement.

The scary—but very cool—basement.

The back part held the washer and dryer, and laundry would tumble into a pile from the laundry chute that started on the top floor.

I always had to remind my little sister that the chute was for laundry, not a slide.

When I got older, the front part of the basement became the fun part.

My parents threw me a surprise party every year. My friends and I would tell ghost stories down there until we scared ourselves so badly that we ran upstairs and camped out in the living room for the rest of the night.

Even our small backyard holds special memories.

We had barbecues, birthday parties and gatherings with friends and family.

My aunt even had her wedding celebration there.

And every spring, Mom would get excited about planting flowers in her flower bed.

The yard wasn't large.

It didn't need to be.

It was ours.

What Really Makes a House a Home

Looking back, I realize that none of these memories were about having a perfect house.

They were about having a place where life happened.

It was where Dad danced with me on his feet. Where Mom's recipes waited for me on the kitchen table. Where Grandma made tortillas. Where my grandfather's cherry cigar announced his surprise visits. Where my little sister and I learned manners and morals and took care of one another.

It was where we laughed, cried, prayed, cooked, listened to music, danced, celebrated, argued, healed, played and grew up.

That's what makes a house a home.

When you're buying a home, it's easy to focus on the things you can see on a listing: the number of bedrooms, the size of the kitchen, the backyard, the flooring and the finishes.

Those things matter.

But I think the most important question is something a little different:

Can you picture your life happening here?

Can you imagine Sunday dinners around the table? Morning coffee in the kitchen? Children playing in the backyard? Friends gathering for a barbecue? A quiet evening on the porch? Holiday traditions that might one day become memories your family carries with them?

Because someday, the house you're looking at today may hold stories you haven't even lived yet.

Parting Thoughts

A house doesn't have to be perfect to become home.

Sometimes it is the scratched table, the favorite chair, the family photograph on the wall or the smell of something cooking in the kitchen.

Sometimes it is a flower bed your mother loved, a song your father used to sing, or a photograph that followed you from one generation to the next.

For me, those are the little things that made my childhood house a home.

And now, as I look at my parents' wedding picture hanging in my own home, I realize something:

Home isn't just a place we live. It is a collection of the people, memories and little moments we carry with us.

When you're searching for a home in Tallahassee or the surrounding communities, you're not simply looking for a house.

You're looking for a place where your own little moments can happen.

And maybe, years from now, you'll look back and realize that those ordinary days were the ones that made it home.

Guest Author: Jeannette Gonzales- Carrillo

Velinda Hittinger, a Realtor and Broker Associate. Contact Velinda - she would love to help you find the perfect home where your family can create lasting memories.