The Meaning of Home

When I am coming home from school on my beat-up oil sick scooter on a rainy day, I look at my home and think to myself. “There is the place that gives me shelter and makes me smile.” I live in it, so I go inside. My mom instantly welcomes me with a bear hug. She asks me how my day was. I say good before she can ask me any more questions and then walk towards my room to get some fresh clothes. After I am done, I come back and ask her. “How was yours?” She says, “it is good.” Then I watch my majestic white headed cockatiel fly overhead, swoop over us and land on my head. “Hello,” he says.in his scratchy bird voice. “Hello,” I say. Then he says some more words and flies away. In case you are wondering how he can speak? Well, he is a parrot and he is unique. After that I heard my brother say, " So how was your day?" I answered by saying it was great. And after all that I sit on my couch, I turn on my Xbox and start to play. Logging in is so annoying it takes about 999999 hours (just exaggerating it was probably like 45 seconds). So, while I'm playing I feel the gentle warm blow of the ac wash across my body. I hear the sizzling of my mom cooking something splendiferous for lunch. I feel my grip on my controller tighten as I ace the game so to sum it all up, this is what my home feels like to me.