The house I grew up in
The kitchen was the warmest room in the house, and my mother ran it like a small country. The bread bin lived up on the dresser where we couldn't reach it, there was a clock that ticked too loud once the lights went out, and a back door that never quite shut – you soon learned which floorboard gave you away coming in late. I thought everyone lived the way we did. It's only now I understand how little there was, and how hard she worked so that not one of us four ever felt it.













