My father-in-law said,
"Find the cheapest house in
the nicest neighborhood.
Then move in."

That was decades ago 
& three lovely children,
interest & escrow,
save, pay, & then

emergencies, hail storms,
sprinkler systems, mouse traps,
suburban plagues in forms
that make you laugh

in their perverse surprise.
But it isn't all bad.
Fresh paint brightens the eyes.
My wife was glad

to circumcise the house
(her words, not mine). A wall
opened to allow
more light. We all

took pride in the barn doors.
I had worried (money,
change). But thank the good Lord
Michelle could see

a way to beautify
our home. But then again,
she knows loving this guy
means that again

& again, she must wait out
my ... my ... What to call it?
My contentment with now,
my calm habit

of saying "This is fine." 
[Insert flaming dog meme]
Father-in-law of mine,
through her, I see

the advice you lived but
didn't say: Find the house.
And trust my girl about 
its kids, its use. 

Written in community with VerseLove, a group of mostly educators writing a poem every day of April (National Poetry Month). The prompt for today: Write a poem about / inspired by home. Form inspired by this one.