Twas the day (and eve) of homecoming, and all through the place
The house held its breath in a very hopeful grace.
The guinea pigs in their cages, the dogs by the door,
Because they’ll be here soon—we know they will, we swear.

The hallway remembers the stomp and the slam,
The I’m fine that meant no, and the yes that meant am.
One child is fire—sharp tongue, quick flame,
She enters a room and rewrites the game.

Another is weather—changeable skies,
Storms pass more slowly, but still clear the eyes.
We’ve learned, piece by piece, how to soften our tone,
How love can be loud and still feel like home.

The house isn’t sleeping, it’s waiting instead,
For footsteps and laughter and love to be spread.
They’re older, they’re braver, but packing for home.
This Mama’s been waiting. This place is still their own.