Children Live Here – Word Dribble


Carly here!

My cousin Adrienne is gifted with a beautiful way with words and wrote this piece called “Children Live Here.” Follow her blog here.

Children Live Here

If you drive past my house today, please excuse the scooter and bikes on the front porch. Explorers live here.

If you dare to venture inside, watch your step. I’m sorry about the pile of shoes not neatly lined up in rows away from foot traffic. Oh, watch out for the mud too. And be careful of the nerf guns and action figures on the floor. Barefoot, tribal playwrights live here.

Please pretend you don’t see the piles of books and homework in the dining room, or in the living room, or downstairs. Please excuse the handprints (or nose prints?) on the windows (yes, all the windows) at approximately the three and four foot levels. Curious little scholars live here.

My bedroom door is closed because there are piles and piles of laundry on my bed that I haven’t had time to put away, so make sure if you go upstairs to use the bathroom, you don’t accidentally open the wrong door. And when you make it to the bathroom, please excuse the towels on the floor and the chunks of blue toothpaste in the sink… And on the walls… And on the ceiling. Chemists and slobs live here.

Don’t even ask about the other bedrooms. The only thing I can guarantee are fish and pet…eh hem…bugs? Ichthyologists and entomologists live here.

Those multitudes of glasses and cups near the sink? Jelly on the counter? Crumbs on the floor? I swear I just did the dishes and vacuumed the floor. Really. It’s just that thirsty chefs live here.

If you make it to the back deck (yup, straight through that screen door left wide open) you may not have a place to sit. I’m sorry for the plastic pottery wheel on the table and the spewed clay and muddy splotches on the chairs. If you tend to be obsessive compulsive, you may be disturbed by the Lego pots set near the terra cotta pots. Which are near the, uh, pet tadpoles. Um, sculptors and architects and biologists live here.

And if you are brave enough to step into the backyard, no, it was not a hurricane that dispersed those branches which are bows and arrows and swords. You were not supposed to notice them in that hideout of a bush. (Yes, that bush near the dead snake memorial.) Soldiers and spies and people who care about snakes live here.

Please excuse the whispering and giggles. Close your ears to the raucous laughter, crazy singing. Close your eyes to all that is unpredictable and messy and imaginary and fun and delightful.

Children live here.


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