Our parade of Target shopping carts a few weeks ago. I love parades.

This is the last time I'm going to talk about this.

I promise.

(Let's be honest, I am probably not going to keep that promise. Ask me if I care.)

Today I got a notice from paypal that said I didn't have enough money in my account to pay for those new drapes I just ordered. (I thought you were my pal, paypal. What gives?) And that is when it hit me that I may have a problem.

I am so good at spending money. (That is not the problem.) Over the last month I have been trying to get this place to feel like home. And houses need all kinds of things like towels and wastebaskets and floral arrangements and ceramic pots that remind me of Jacob's well. Houses need pictures and mattress pads and shelves and tablecloths and baskets to store the tablecloths in. They need paint and pillows and fans and about four thousand 3M command strips. They need chairs and rugs and curtains and refrigerator doors full of soy sauce and ketchup and salad dressing. In the last month I have done what I could to generously provide. (I am good at spending money, remember?)

David, for his part, has generously tried to look the other way. Except when I am showing him paint samples, and then he tries to look supportive rather than alarmed. (No one said marriage was easy.)

But today when I read that paypal was more interested in the pay part than the pal part, I realized that my problem may be trying to fill a hole that cannot be filled with all this decorating and organizing and beautifying. A hole that cannot be filled because the hole is not in the house, but in me.

Because today it occurred to me that I am homesick.