Burning Beneath

There’s nothing quite like the sound of a child’s laughter. It rings through the walls, filling the space with a kind of joy that’s impossible to fake. Pure, untamed, and full of life. It’s in the way they chase each other, tackling and tumbling in their makeshift wrestling matches, arguing over rules only they seem to understand. Even the occasional slip of a swear word—though I don’t approve—comes with that cheeky, guilty glance, a quick “MAMAAAAA” as if testing the limits of authority. And then, the moment that always gets me—a mumbled “sorry” followed by a barely concealed smirk, the kind that says, I know I shouldn’t, but wasn’t that just a little funny?

It’s in these tiny, fleeting moments that life feels the most real. The chaos, the laughter, the echoes of childhood filling the air. And as much as I try to keep order, to teach them right from wrong, I wouldn’t trade this beautiful mess for anything. Because someday, the house will be quiet. And I’ll miss the sound of their joy.