Thoughts on Silence

I don't regret having kids.  In fact, I quite like having 3 little people in my life.  They are fun and funny and they make my life rich.

But man, are they work!

This week my three beautiful children are staying with their grandparents while I attempt Finals Week.  I have 4 finals, 3 projects, 2 speeches, and 1 presentation.  On top of that, I'm deep cleaning the house for when my mom comes on Thursday night.  There's a lot to do.  And yet I find myself thinking thoughts like this:

"This is how people get stuff done."

The school project that I had mentally slated for today was all finished yesterday.

"This is how people keep their house clean."

There are no extra dishes to do or messes to clean, so the house cleaning is ahead of schedule, too.

"This is what a quiet house sounds like."

Rob and I sleep until the sun wakes us.  No one wakes us up at any point during the night.  During the day I've listened to my music - loud - any time I've wanted.  I've talked on the phone with no interruptions from little voices.

"This is what it's like on the other side of raising kids."

It's gloriously pleasant and simple.

Sitting outside hand writing a blog post, this blog post, to be typed out later.  Putting a book down on the table, knowing it'll stay there until I move it again.  Heck, maybe I won't even bother to move it at all, I don't need the table space.  Having ... time.  Lots and lots of time.

And yet, something is lacking.

The silence isn't sweet.  It's empty.  It's the sound of no little people telling me "good morning" or, "I love you," or asking for a hug.  It's the sound of eating dinner by myself and never once saying, "Elijah, please sit down," or, "You must eat at least 2 carrots to get a bedtime snack."

It's the sound of people I love, temporarily gone.

This is what death is like, I think.  In some small way.  You know where the sounds should be.  You can plot them out.  You know where the sounds should be, but they are not there.  There is only a discomforting silence.  Thankfully for me in this instance, there is no pain involved.  I know my children are coming home.

...  I can't wait to have them back.