Me At Twenty-Four.

The car rolled to a silent stop in front of a two story house. Blue with white shudders. A long porch wrapped around the front where it was mostly hidden by shrubs growing wildly out of hand. I meant to trim those before I left. Guess I never really got around to it.

I pulled the keys from the ignition still watching the house. It was pretty much a simple square except for where it jutted out in the front right half giving it an extra foot. On the first story of that awkward extra foot was a set of three windows that arched outward. A built in couch sat on the other side of these windows. This is the library -or was until Henry was born. At that point it became a nursery, once we discovered that books and slobbery boys didn't mix very well. The books were now in boxes shoved in the corner of our basement. No matter what I do they always seem to end up down there.

I inhaled breathing in the fresh scent of May. I couldn't help but feel relieved. Relaxed almost. I was back. I was home. I let the bright noon sun beat against my face before jumping out of the car -literally.

The car was a red Volkswagen bug convertible with sleek black leather seats. I loved this car. It drove smoother than anything I've ever driven. (I even had a few possible names picked out.) A woman in our ward was trying to sell it and she let me borrow it for the last two weeks to see how it drove. It was supposedly going to be my late twenty-fourth birthday present. But, things never turn out the way we expect they will. Just eight days ago I called my husband to tell him the news. We couldn't keep the car. Número Tres was already on the way.

The gravel crunched beneath my shoes as I hit the driveway. This was something I missed. Los Angeles isn't exactly my cup of tea and two weeks was more than enough time away from home. Not that Kansas is exactly my taste, but it works.

My husband and I were married mid August 2010 in the Jordan River Temple out in Utah, but we lived in Rexburg, Idaho until we both finished school. We got our degrees in the same month over a year and a half later. I guess you could say that it was his fault we never made it to our own graduation. No, we spent that day in the hospital and left with a bouncing baby boy. That fall we moved here to Haysville, Kansas on account of my husbands job. We like it here. It suits us.

I leaned across the open car and grabbed my bag and best-selling novel of almost four months (-hence the reason for my being in Los Angeles) and started for the door.

I could hear them before I even reached the porch. The rumbling sound of a human airplane being followed by two fighter jets attempting to shoot it down. I smiled walking up the steps. When I reached the door, however, I didn't open it. Instead I leaned against the outside wall and peered in through the front window. There they were. All three of my boys. The youngest flying around piggyback with his arms around the neck of the handsomest man while the middle one raced around the room, arms outstretched, in his pajamas and what seemed to be a military helmet made of tin foil. I watched as they all raced into the next room mimicking the sounds of a plane about to crash. I laughed finally deciding to open the door.

When I pulled open the screen a loud squeak echoed through the house and all went silent. I hesitated a moment before pushing open the front door to reveal an empty living room. "Hello?" I called into the quiet house. "Is anyone home?"

I heard it then, the sound of tiny feet tapping against the kitchen floor and the shout as my oldest son ran toward me. "Dad -it's Mom! Dad -it's Mom!"

His eyes lit up when he saw me standing there. I knelt to the ground and caught him up in my arms. After kissing every inch of his face I balanced him on my hip and saw the rest of my family standing at the edge of the kitchen waiting for me. My husband smiled at me holding our youngest in his arms. "Welcome Home."