It’s so quiet around here.
At the moment, all I can hear is the sound of the washing machine in the laundry room, sloshing away on a load of sheets. I can hear Tom out in the kitchen, turning the pages of the newspaper with an occasional thump of a coffee cup hitting the tabletop.
Once in awhile, a car drives by, the occupant no doubt on the way to work. But all in all, it’s quiet.
The last of our kids and grandkids left yesterday to go back to Arizona after Grandpa’s funeral. The kitchen counters are tidy once again—no bottles or formula or car seats or rice cereal boxes adorn them.
The kitchen table is small again. We took out the extra table leaf and put the booster chair down in the laundry room.
The basement stairs are once again accessible. I don’t have to do any more risky feats of Derry-do, leaping over the kiddie gate that we had set up to prevent Colbie from going headfirst down the steps. The giant shoe collection by the garage door is back down to one pair of old-lady walking shoes.
The living room no longer looks like a giant changing table. The diapers and wipers and other poop paraphernalia are gone. Go Dog Go and the puzzles are back in their cupboard in the basement.
The laundry room is a mini mountain range of sheets and towels from every bedroom and bathroom in the house.
The refrigerator is looking a little empty after days of being crammed with sippy cups and gallons of whole milk and Junior hotdogs.
Yes, it’s quiet again. No more grandbabies to clutter up our neat ‘n’ tidy little old-people world. Neat and tidy, everything in its place, quiet.
I miss the mess.