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For having lived in Omaha my entire life, I've lived in a lot of different "homes".

My parents bought a cute little house in a suburban neighborhood shortly before I made my grand entrance into this little thing we call life. I don't remember much about it. Honestly, I was too little when I lived there to even remember what it looked like.

When I was about three, my parents started building a new house about 2 miles away from our current house. My first real memory is sitting in what would be the living room, eating McDonald's on the floor of the unfinished room. This is the house where we became the McHale family. Allison was born about a year later, and Dylan four years after that. This was the house where I made my best childhood friend, who conveniently lived next door, and we got into all sorts of shenanigans. It was also the house that Allison ran into a tree in the backyard, giving her a bear claw like scar on her cheek (I claim no responsibility in this incident...). And where Dylan tried to fly off a rocking chair and ended up hitting his dresser and cutting his cheek open. Ask me what color fat is, I know the answer because of this stunt. We lived there for 8 years. It looks a little like this now:

At the base of that basketball hoop, I bet my handprint is still in the concrete from when we first put it in.

Then we built my parents "dream home", where they still live. A whole mile away from the old house.

This is the house I considered "home" up until a year ago. This is the house that I shed my first tears over stupid boys, gossiped in my bedroom on the phone, and got in screaming matches with my sister through our shared bathroom door. This is the house where all the McHale kids grew up. We formed a Guitar Hero band in the basement entitled "White Thunda" which prompted my mom to shut the door and run as far away as she could to escape our rendition of "My Name is Jonas". We have been known to resurrect the band from time to time... I play a mean guitar solo. Now it will be just my mom, dad, and Dylan in the house come next week. After two years of living in the college dorms, Allison is moving into her first apartment.

Speaking of apartments... let's talk about my other "homes".

I lived in the dorms at Creighton for a year. BRUTAL. The only plus side to living in the dorms was being on campus. And just in the off chance that anyone I went to college with reads this blog, that's all I'm going to say about that.

Freaking tiny dorm room.

Then I moved into my first apartment. I didn't know then, but it was in a bad, bad neighborhood. This sheltered West Omaha girl convinced herself it was "just fireworks" plenty of nights in the year and a half that I lived there. But, it was spacious, clean, and cheap. And two doors down from Taco Bell.

Mine was the top right corner unit.

Then, after a brief stint back at home, I moved again. This place had a pool. And was in a much better neighborhood. I lived there for about 9 months, before my ceiling collapsed in my living room. And then again in the 2nd bedroom. I considered that my cue to get the heck out of dodge.

I miss this pool.

Then I moved to what will be known as "the worst apartment ever". And why you should ALWAYS look at the actual unit before signing a lease. Because my apartment? Didn't look a thing like this:

Not even close. Not even halfway close. The guy downstairs chain smoked into my air ducts, filling my apartment with smoke constantly. I once found a cracked out girl in my hallway, just sitting there, until a neighbor came to claim her. I had a squirrel stuck in my utility closet, and no one cared/would come get it out. I think it eventually got out. I don't know. The place was seriously run down. I'm glad I was only there for 8 months.

Then I moved to the best apartment known to man. I loved it so much. If we hadn't found the Bungalow, I would probably still be there. 

Actual picture with my junk in it. My cheap, bought entirely on sale, junk.

I loved that dear apartment so dang much. It had soaring ceilings, tons of natural light, wood floors throughout the living and kitchen/dining areas, a huge bathroom, a walk in closet the size of a small bedroom, a mud room with a FULL SIZED washer and dryer, a pool, and amazing management. And it was affordable. It was the holy grail of apartments.

None of those apartments were really "home" though. That real "home" feeling didn't come until I set my eyes on this crazy mess of a house.

Jungle House.

And now le Bungalow is my real home. The first home I've had since I moved out of my parents' house. And next week is our one year anniversary of living in that Bungalow of ours.

So there you have it. All of the homes in my life.