Peace and Quiet
If there is such a thing
You know that feeling when you’ve had a houseful of joyful chaos and suddenly all of the people go away for a few days and your home is left feeling silent and lonely? Yeah, I don’t get that.
Every two weeks or so, my sons, Hurricane James and Tropical Storm Jack, evacuate to their father’s house for the weekend. In their wake, a beautiful and calming void remains. I try not to fill that void when possible. Instead, I bathe in it. I float through the house — dodging the gym socks, banana peels, and half crushed cereal bits on the floor — enjoying the way the walls look when they’re not shaken by the sound of teenage battles over the remote control, a game control, or their own personal need for control. It’s such a splendid kind of peace.
Eventually, I give in and tidy the trails of filth, trash, and bits of life that my boys leave behind (usually because I either stepped on or tripped over something). Then, I get a short opportunity to truly enjoy my surroundings without the shame that comes from choosing not to spend my life imitating a Roomba.
For two nights, I‘m more than a mom, I’m a woman. For two nights, I get to enjoy the priveledges that come with being young, free, and female. Then, burdened by the pressure of deciding what to spend my two nights on, I inevitably pour a glass of wine and open my computer to get some work done because bills don’t pay themselves and I couldn’t think of anything to do worth putting on make-up for.
It’s a good thing I adopted cats.