I see my computer screen, my fingers typing out the letters on the keyboard. I see the living room, and the kitchen. I see a half eaten cookie on the table. Once in a while, I see a little brown boy, flying down the hall on his chair, looking at me and going "Did you see that 'Lish?" Yep, I saw that.
I feel the chair beneath me, the computer on my lap, the blanket covering me. I smell the fresh cookies my mom baked earlier. I can still taste that amazingly tasty half a cookie I had after they came out of the oven. There's a million little thoughts in my head, most of them meaningless. "Lisha? Can you help me put on my stuff?" Yep, I can. He takes my hand and leads me to where his snow stuff is waiting to be put on. He holds on to my shoulder as we get him into his snowpants, zip up his coat, put on his boots, hat and mitts. And then they're gone. The house is quiet. No more noise. Silence, except for the hum of the dishwasher, my fingers on the keys. Yep, they drive me crazy. Sometimes all I want is that little bit of silence. But when everyone is gone, the house is still, I miss that noise. I miss that little guy who sang Carrie Underwood as I was buttoning up his coat. I miss the older two, playing with their lego and talking about video games. I miss the wheels on the hardwood floor. Soon they'll come in and they'll start making noise again. soon I'll be there and wishing for here. But a house is not a home with no one to share it with. I'm glad I get to stay here, at home, for a little while longer. Because, as much as I like to think other wise, I would miss it here. What do you hear?