Under the Stairs

Our new house has an under the stairs room. You know, like Harry Potter. One of those cool cut out spaces tucked in the basement just waiting for your imagination. Our house in Illinois had one, too. It doubled as American Girl Land and our tornado shelter. At least we had stuff to play with when the sirens were going off.

Yesterday at breakfast Sissy and Piper were making plans for their new under the stairs room. They want it to be a hideout. Something new. Something private. Adults aren’t allowed. “Why can’t we have the whole basement?” Piper asked.

“Dad will have his office down there. And we need a guest room, too,” I said. Dad works from home three days a week. And we have a lot of visitors. “But the under the stairs room is all yours.”

“In fact,” Dad said, “we were thinking you both would just live in the under the stairs room and leave the upstairs bedrooms for us.” Sissy rolled her eyes. She knows to never take him seriously. Piper played along, though.

“What? You’re going to lock us in the under the stairs room? Just like Harry Potter!” Piper feigned outrage and panic. It was quite a performance.

“Don’t worry. We’ll still bring you food,” Dad reassured them. Sissy rolled her eyes again.

“Well,” Piper said, reaching across the table for Sissy’s hand, “at least we’ll be together.”

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