weekend at his grandparents’

one little monkey...

When the boy is gone, a delicious silence descends on the house. I can sleep until 7:50 and then wait a while before breakfast. Put the kettle on. Open windows. And never turn on the radio or a podcast.  The only sound is bare feet on warm June floors.  When the boy is gone, I can sew for hours.   Sew until the project is finished.  I can sew at noon or at night.  I can sew quietly.  For one small, delicious night.

When the boy comes home, the noise returns.   And the rhythms of breakfast and lunch and dinner and dishes and walks and naps and books.  Music is turned on, and he pretends to talk on the phone.  There is the sound (again and again) of him “reading” Curious George, which I just retrieved from under the couch.  There are the fish at the library and tickles and teases.

I love the quiet things of the world.  But I also love the noise of my son.  And the wiggle in my ever-growing belly.  And hearing Adam laugh.

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