“I came home tired, arms full of groceries—then stopped on the porch.
Shoes.
A glorious, messy pile of them — sneakers, slides, flip-flops. Not one or two, but dozens, scattered across the steps.
And I just stood there, smiling. Because I knew what it meant.
It meant the house was full of teenagers again.
Loud. Hungry. Half-grown humans I’ve watched grow up around my kitchen table. Friends since grade school. Now high school graduates. Almost gone.
This is our eighteenth summer.
And maybe… the last one like this.
So I took a deep breath, opened the door, and let the chaos wrap around me like a warm, wild hug.
Because one day, the porch will be still.
The house will be quiet.
And I’ll miss tripping over size 12 sneakers just to get inside.” ❤️
[Denise Cohen]