A House Is Not A Home

Last saturday consisted of earling morning hairspray, a huge house that I first thought belong to some awkward stranger, a face caked up with make-up (it's disgusting, really), relatives, lots of it, and running races.
I can't believe that our new house has finally finished after all of those desperate years waiting and fixing and rearranging it, that it seems almost impossible for it to ever finish.
But there we were, doing the symbolic opening-of-the-door ceremony and there were so many people came and I knew almost all of them and it's really insane.
Mom and I still can not seem to comprehend the fact that this is actually our house. Not some stranger. And it felt surprisingly odd for me.
Maybe adjusting does take time.