Laughter

When I think of home I picture a warm fire in the living room, the crackles heard even from the deepest crevices in the bricks and the warmth felt beyond just the living room as we wait for the perfect time to roast some marshmallows, the smell of the fire urging me to go grab one and start to cook it in the warm fire. As my family waits we start to make some hot chocolate to go with the marshmallows soon-to-be s’mores. When all is ready we sit down and start to eat the s’mores and drink the hot chocolate. We feel the warm, sticky texture of the marshmallows running down our throats To be at home means to me to watch a movie on the TV in the basement. It means to pause it just to see popcorn flooding out of the popcorn machine, the leftover kernels that didn’t pop still hanging in the bottom of the foot tall machine. When I am at home I think of my dog who rushes to the door to greet anyone who comes through. It is always so nice to see his small face just barely above the stairs. The dog was so excited for someone to come home. My sisters do a similar thing when my mom comes home; they hide behind the door and shout “boo!” when she comes through the door. Whereas I just merrily guess whether it's my mom or my dad, I make an estimate about who has come home based on how long they stay in the garage and how long they take to take off their jacket and shoes.