I went to a barbecue at my current boyfriend's Sargent's house last weekend. He and his wife live in a tiny, square home in the quieter side of the city down a dead-end road. His boxy, grey house at the very end of Woodhaven Lane is nothing impressive. In fact, it looks worn, used, and tired, like there have been some real memories constructed inside, and a couple of fights, too. It reminded me of the kind of place you read in books about struggling families: Black and white linoleum covers the ground while a pale, floral wallpaper peels off the walls. It looks like the paycheck was just enough to pay the bills.

It's the kind of place that has an empty hole in the center of it when duty and deployment calls. Wobbly chairs gather around the kitchen table and plastics dollhouses and dump trucks scatter across the enclosed porch, opening to a small, green backyard. The minimal house was nothing beautiful on the outside or the inside, but God, it felt like a real home with tough skin (and smelled of brisket and collared greens). However, that hole is filled by the heart of someone incredibly unique.

It was in these four, short walls where I met Kansas.

Kansas is approximately three feet tall, has long, wavy blonde hair, and bright blue eyes that sparkle like the moon dancing over the ocean on a cool night. Kansas loves animals, playing basketball, and she can even talk to her imaginary friend - which just so happen to be a ghost named Emily who lives under that dingy, 1970's kitchen floor.

Kansas brings things to life with her wild imagination. She has a heart so big that it could encompass the entire universe, and everything beyond it, too. I thought it was ironic that she was named after a state that Dorothy said is "no place like home." Kansas felt like home to me as I held her in my long and lanky arms. This strawberry blonde-haired angel made me realize that one day, like the Sargent and his wife, I will have my own little family. I will have my own little makeshift home. I will work from nine to five and struggle to pay the bills. I will decorate it with blood, sweat, and tears. I will have my own little Kansas dancing around the backyard as if the world is her stage. And she owns it.

This thought terrified me and set off my anxiety, but it, also, made me so incredibly hopeful. Coming from a single-parent home, there is nothing I want more in this world than to be a mother to a beautiful spirit like Kansas. My parents divorced when my brother and I were four years old, and my dad passed away five short years later. I never deeply and truly got to know my Dad on the level I so wish I could have. It only ignites the fire inside of me to love and support my own future family with all of my heart and soul. I want it to be perfect. And I know, someday, I will make it perfect, even if I struggle, in the end it will be beautiful.

She may only be four years old, but Kansas taught me a lot about what new homes and new beginnings feel like. Her energy radiated throughout the surrounding walls, and you simply couldn't help but to pick her up in your arms and hold her close to your heart until she falls asleep clutching your arm. You want to keep this girl- this child - safe and sound from the world. I wanted to shelter her from the chaotic storms of the world, the corruption and ugliness of human life, and only allow beautiful things to grace her spirit.

Kansas has a little flicker inside of her that keeps growing. And, one day, she is going to set the whole world on fire.

She showed me that even if a home is a little broken, and if it is not so pretty on the outside, that it is the people in it that make it beautiful. It's not about having the perfect HGTV-esque home with the draped matching the carpets and the shiplap. It's about structure; how it is built, from the ground up, and what everyone puts into it. A house isn't built in a day - neither are families, dreams, or just about anything else. Life doesn't come with an instruction manual, and that's the whimsical part about it - to just have fun with it. Kansas showed me that the structure of the people inside, not the four surrounding walls, are what holds a home together. Laughter makes the skeleton of the house. The windows are draped with positivity, allowing the light to come in. Kansas let her light inside her family. And I feel it in my bones that she will set the world on fire. I hope I will, too.