BUCKING THE SYSTEM: AFTER FOUR MONTHS AWAY ECAUSE OF A FIRE, THERE IS NO PLACE LIKE HOME

We're home.

I don't think there's any sweeter phrase for my family right now than that.

We moved back into our house this week after a four-month absence, and it was glorious to again have a kitchen and rooms that I could call my own.

When our house caught fire back in May, many people thought our move into a prominent local hotel would be a fun change. They figured the swimming pool, maid service and room delivery service would more than make up for the fact that we were displaced from our home.

I didn't feel the same way for a lot of reasons. For one, I don't like the idea of strangers being able to see my personal stuff or how haphazardly I live, so I always go to great lengths to clean up before the maids come in.

Then there's the fact that I like to eat food that I didn't cook, but not every night. Sometimes you just get a hankering for oversalted, homemade, brown gravy or tuna salad with big hunks of sweet gherkins and lots of mayonnaise, and that's stuff they just don't (or shouldn't) serve in restaurants.

But the main reason I didn't relish the thought of being a hotel dweller was because I knew I didn't want to be locked into a room, even a suite, with my husband and two young sons for any length of time.

I was right.

In retrospect, I probably should have rented a house and moved all our new stuff in as it became available. That would have been preferable to the claustrophobia I suffered through the hot summer months.

Don't get me wrong, I liked the hotel. It had positively the best desk staff I've ever experienced, and the pool and maid service was nice, but there was nowhere in that hotel for me to run away when I needed to.

I think all women have a runaway room they use when they need to escape. As a moody teen-ager, I would hide in my parents' living room, because that was the one room nobody ever went into except for on special occasions or when house guests visited.

In the first house we rented, there was a huge walk-in closet in the den that I hid in if I wanted to read a book in peace. Patrick never thought to look there, and I could always keep my secret safe by saying I had taken a nap on the nearby couch.

Now we're home, and we've made a lot of improvements to our house. Our basement will soon be finished and available for my husband's pleasure, and there's an office and spare bedroom upstairs for guests.

Our bathroom and the master bedroom also now have locks, something the men in my family didn't care about but which I insisted upon.

Quite simply, I love everything about my house and am glad my sons now have their own room again. Once I break them from climbing into our bed in the middle of the night, I'll be even happier.

And as for my special hiding place: Yes, I've already found it, but I'm not telling where it is.