The author gives her little brother a piggy back ride on the way home from the park.

I walk through the door, plop my backpack on the table. Slip off my shoes. Tell my mother about the triumphs and travails of the day. Make some jelly toast. Say Hi to Ang, my 6 year old brother. Get a glass of milk. Pet the dog.

The onions for minestrone soup are sauteing. There may be good food in the dining hall, but you can’t get the benefit of smelling it being cooked.

When my eldest little brother was little, he would say “some days little boys like to eat their vegetables, and some days they don’t.” (The days were unfailingly the latter) Some days I like living at home, and some days I don’t. Today, I do. At the end of my four hour Chemistry lab, coming at the end of a 7-hours-in-class day, I walked down the four flights of stairs in Sid Richardson, the science building. “Ah, I get to go home.” Not – “Back to the dorm!” or “I get to go back to my apartment.” Home.

My mom always said “when you’re hungry you know the worth of food” and “when the well is dry you know the worth of water.” Well, when you’re tired and it’s been a long day, you know the worth of home.

After I write this post we will walk to the park.