My kids were embarrassed when we moved into a hotel. They ended up loving it, but I’m worried about where we’ll live next.

I felt defeated and a bit like a failure, but I also felt grateful and proud of my persistence, creativity, and resourcefulness. Faced with nowhere to go, I didn’t give up. I spent every day searching, praying, and believing that we would indeed find a place to lay our heads at night. When I finally found our temporary hotel abode, I understood my children’s embarrassment at the unorthodox arrangement, but I knew that we had to remain grateful. We were indeed among the lucky ones in this tough housing market.

“This is how people become homeless,” I said, unsure if my children were getting the message. I do know that although they were more than sad to say goodbye to our beloved home, the neighbors, and our ideal location, my kids were also excited by the adventure of hotel life. And I know that what they did learn is that home isn’t about how many bedrooms you have, what street you live on, or what’s in your closet.

We are in our new, minimalist, smaller apartment and it is, indeed, our home — even if only for a short while. We take early morning trips to the breakfast buffet and make late-night S’mores at the firepit. We pop into the hotel restaurant for trivia every Thursday night (where we are better known as the Buckaroos) and have the time of our lives. We play ping pong and pool on the weekends and enjoy family sweat sessions in the sauna, and yes, we are well aware that we are, indeed, blessed.

I can hear the excitement of what we are doing in my kids’ voices when they say things like, “I can’t wait to see what it is like during the winter here.” But I also know they know this is not forever.

I don’t know when we are moving out exactly and I certainly don’t know where we are going (or how I am affording it). At times, yes, I get scared about what’s next, but I know that wherever we end up, we will make it a home.