Once more a home comes alive. Voices have become deeper, some have become more self aware. They've grown up. Not a room is silent. Beds have piled up in a corner, halfway up the wall. The shoe closet is a sea of footwear, the ironing table is always hot. Somewhere between active relatives and tired relatives is a bride to be. She sits and sleeps and walks and jogs and talks like the rest of us, like it's a regular vacation. Were it not for the embroidered clothes and rustle of gift wrapped packages, no one would know she was on the verge of marriage.
The children play the fool when adults aren't around, and play adults when they are. Too eager. They can't wait to be adults. Just wait till they are. Then we'll see the fun.