I often noticed when the girls were little that they would walk up to me periodically, not say a word, and just touch my leg or grab my hand. It would be a fleeting moment, but I noticed it with all three of them through the years.

I finally realized what they were doing. Touching ‘home base’…so to speak.

Every once in a while, they would need to go back ‘home’. Maybe they needed a boost of security, or to make sure I was still there. Maybe they had just gotten frightened. Maybe they just felt uneasy, or even had some sort of pain somewhere. Whatever the reason, a touch from mom, was just what they needed to continue through their day.

I don’t think that ends in childhood. Everyone wants a ‘home base’,  and when we don’t have one, we feel unprotected, and alone.

I have found that out recently as I am the only family member left in Prentiss and my ‘home  base’ will soon be gone.

This subject came up over Christmas as my college girl went to put her clothes up in her drawers in her room, only to find out that “I’m a teenager now, and get to move into my own room” daughter number three had overtaken her room and her things had been boxed up.

It was a crisis—level five.  “I don’t want to live out of a bag. Please don’t make me live out of a bag” the college student gasped!

“I think I’m grown” grabbed her clothes and quickly moved them back to my bedroom that we share (I won’t deny that I was happy about that!) and all was well in the world again.

After all, I still have clothes from high school in my childhood closet, and I’m dragging my feet to get them out.

I might be the last family member here, but I’m going to keep my ‘home base’ as long as I can.