Where have you been? I haven't seen you in a while. I thought I knew you. How you have changed.
Home was where I sat by the window watching birds. Now I watch children run and play. Now I set meals on the table 3 meals a day for little mouths instead of filling feeders for little sparrows and cardinals and nuthatches.
Now my empty rooms are noisy and messy rather than neat and orderly. I don't know what to expect. Four of my grandkids have come to live here with us. They need home more than I do. Home has been stolen from them.
I fuss and I carry on but Home, you know I love the music of their voices, the sound of their footsteps on the stairs, their splashes in the bath, their cuddles and kisses. You know I love the mothering I get to do once again. You know I want them here with me.
My privacy, my peace has been shattered, but one day when they are gone I will have much more than I want of that.
Home, let's decide to open wide our arms and to taste and ingest every morsel of fun and laughter and chaos and joy to remember later–– to find on another silent day–– to hold forever.