Fresh Air
The house has been half empty for three days now and I have washed and cleaned and organized about everything I can lay my hands on, trying to fill the time. The three younger kids and I have read stories and watched movies and played games to fill the quiet that permeates the house. I have seen these little ones in a new light. The 7 year-old is the oldest for the time being and has taken charge of the baby and her 4 year-old brother; she has learned how to run the dishwasher and washer and dryer, stepping up to the job well. The 4 year-old, the man of the house, has been fearless and protective and ever encouraging, doing his part to fill the shoes his brothers and father have left behind. The baby, is, well, still the baby, but has begun saying new words and doing new things that the older ones have missed and will have to hear about second-hand.
If I stop moving and working and planning, the silence becomes too loud, but I am learning to welcome the silence. It's just for a time, not long now, before the house will erupt with noise and talking and laughing and stories of adventures. And so I am trying to enjoy the silence. It's not long now, before there will be mountains of laundry and dishes and cooking and school work. But I am starting to relax in the quiet. Won't be long before my man is home and his arms are around me; his is a quiet I always bask in.
The piano and guitars sit silently, awaiting someone to awaken them. The 10 year-old's pencils and drawing paper sit on a shelf, waiting for him to breathe life into them. The teenagers' rooms are hushed, anticipating late-night laughing and talking and music.
But it's good to have a change, a different way of living, for a time. It makes the regular life more appealing; I can see it more clearly when it's not right in front of me. I can see how good I have it when I can step away from it, for a time. It's good to take a break, take a breath of fresh unfamiliar air, to take stock, count blessings. Well, I've tarried too long writing and contemplating. Enough! I have more cleaning to do!
If I stop moving and working and planning, the silence becomes too loud, but I am learning to welcome the silence. It's just for a time, not long now, before the house will erupt with noise and talking and laughing and stories of adventures. And so I am trying to enjoy the silence. It's not long now, before there will be mountains of laundry and dishes and cooking and school work. But I am starting to relax in the quiet. Won't be long before my man is home and his arms are around me; his is a quiet I always bask in.
The piano and guitars sit silently, awaiting someone to awaken them. The 10 year-old's pencils and drawing paper sit on a shelf, waiting for him to breathe life into them. The teenagers' rooms are hushed, anticipating late-night laughing and talking and music.
But it's good to have a change, a different way of living, for a time. It makes the regular life more appealing; I can see it more clearly when it's not right in front of me. I can see how good I have it when I can step away from it, for a time. It's good to take a break, take a breath of fresh unfamiliar air, to take stock, count blessings. Well, I've tarried too long writing and contemplating. Enough! I have more cleaning to do!
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