In this house, we skip rope in the kitchen
and shove the furniture about to make way for handstands,
cartwheels, building huge towers of Jenga blocks,
or five puzzles in an afternoon.
In this house we throw a mattress down on the floor of the front room
so teenagers can sleep over.
In this house, the mattress stays there, because, have you tried this?
(A mattress in the middle of the common space is like an easy and soft place to land, at any point in the
day).
In this house there are tomatoes and avocadoes hanging out next to the bananas and oranges, and
coconut milk in the fridge, cookies in the jar, and neopolitan in the freezer.
In this house there is a half finished sky light, floors that need sweeping, and two hard working parents
trying their best, always.
In this house there is loud and soft, raucaus and easy, stomping feet, slamming doors, coffee brewing,
flowers blooming (and wilting), kids yelling, parents laughing, mothers crying, fathers joking; there is anger,
there is joy, there is bored, sad, lonely, content.
In this house there is love and time and patience. There is learning and growing, imperfections and
mistakes, trying and winning and failing.
In this house there is living; full-on living.