Laughter In The Walls

 Laughter In The Walls

I pass a lot of houses on my way home. Some pretty, some expensive, some inviting–
But my heart always skips a beat when I turn down the road and see my house nestled against the hill.
I guess I’m especially proud of the house and the way it looks because I drew the plans myself.
It started out large enough for us. It even had a study, two teenaged boys now reside in there, and it had a guest room, my girl and nine dolls are permanent guests.
It had a small room Peg had hoped would be her sewing room, two boys swinging on dutch doors have claimed this room as their own.
So it really doesn’t look right now as if I’m much of an architect.
But it will get larger again, one by one they will go away,
to work,
to college,
to service,
to their own houses,
and then there will be room for just the two of us.
But it won’t be empty,
every corner,
every room,
every nick in the coffee table will be crowded with memories.
Memories of picnics, parties, Christmases, bedside vigils, summers, fires, winters, going barefoot, leaving for vacations, cats, conversations, black eyes, graduations, first dates, ball games, arguments, washing dishes, bicycles, dogs, boat rides, getting home from vacations, meals, rabbits, and a thousand other things that fill the lives
of those who would raise five.
And Peg and I will sit,
quietly by the fire
and listen to the
Laughter In The Walls.