I love going home. It’s the only place they call me “Francie” and feed me carbs until I’m about to burst. It’s also stress-free. I spend too much money and sleep too late. I hope my three children will one day love coming home. Not that I want them to leave. How odd to be a mother encouraging them to spread their wings and fly, while secretly hoping they land within 50 miles of home. Or in the neighborhood. I’m not picky.