Our house is a very, very, very fine house.

With two cats in the yard. Life used to be so hard.*

Well, we do have two cats. But I'm telling you, they had better not be in the yard. I tell them when they try to escape, "You live inside, not outside."

And life has been hard before. Probably will be again. But not so hard that I didn't have a house to call home. I'm thankful for a home.

Some people don't have a home. Some people have many homes. I'm thankful that for as long as I've been around (which is getting longer every day), I've had one home. Sometimes it's been a small home or a borrowed home or a broken-down, needs a handyman, why'd we buy it in the first place home. But I've always had shelter. I've always had a home. Here are a few:

This is the first house I remember. The old photo doesn't do it justice. Of course, I mainly remember the inside and happy toddler things. My parents built our house (below) when I was 4 years old, so my brother and I could attend better schools.

The house I grew up in. It's a green house. And a fairly small one. But it was often a fun house and always a loving house, on a quiet street in a small town.

The first house Mark and I bought. The one we now can't sell. The first house Photobaby ever lived in.

What's your favorite home? Have you had many over the years?

* From "Our House" by Crosby Stills Nash & Young, in case you don't know this one.