I am in that stage of parenting that they never warned me about. Okay, so maybe they did warn me, I just didn’t listen. That stage they so laughingly refer to as the terrible two’s only my child is three and not so terrible. But still. It’s that stage where you engage in countless conversations from the second you wake up until the second you close your eyes at night and if you want to be truthful, even continues while you sleep. What kind of conversations you of the childless persuasion ask? Every kind of conversation from do you want apple juice or grape juice, the pink cup or the orange cup, the plate with the bear or the plate with the train, be still so I can zip your pants, don’t whine, don’t you dare hit mommy, that sign says stop, Mommy is a girl and Daddy is a boy, Nana can’t come pick you up today, no tomorrow we go to the zoo, and I’ve told you that we don’t pick our nose in public. When you’re a parent, there is nothing off limits and it’s guaranteed that your child will outlast you every time unless you sedate him and even then there’s no guarantee.
I remember when our house was a place of solace, with lit candles and Enya crooning softly from a radio not covered with Sponge Bob stickers. Not anymore. Now the house actually shakes with the endless marching in his favorite cowboy boots. He’s jumping on beds and throwing things into the sink while he “helps” me clean the kitchen. He shrieks of joy every time Daddy or the UPS man comes – we won’t reveal who gets the louder shrieks. He’s singing Jesus Loves Me in the bathtub and the cartoons are blaring as we bribe him to go potty. Our house is never quiet even when my child is not in it for he undoubtedly leaves random toys that he has instructed to go off at a moment’s notice from behind a couch or a chair when I’m alone in the shower. The noise of my child carries into the car, the grocery store, the auto shop, the doctor’s office. I can’t remember the last time I experienced complete and total silence. Until today.
Today while my child was at preschool I decided not to run errands. I decided not to have my hair cut or my nails done. Instead I went to my mother’s house which was the closest place I could find to the school to avoid wasting one second of beloved “me” time driving. I chose to go to my mother’s empty house and write. Or at least that’s what I told people. I was really going to just sit and be. To drink in the delicious taste of silence. And that’s what I did.
At first it was nice. Really nice. And I drank enough of it to last me at least until he’s four. It was quiet. Really quiet. I tried to hear something and couldn’t. No whir of a distant lawn mower. No air conditioner sputtering. No ice dropping in the freezer. Just a faint ticking clock which I say doesn’t count and was probably just something loose rattling inside my head.
After a while though it became too quiet. After a while, I really started to feel what a house sounds like when the children are gone and the toys are shipped off. When the fingerprints are no longer on the door handle and the nose prints have been wiped off the glass. No tiny shoes and socks strewn in the hall. No mysterious items found in toilets and drains. Everything in its place. No more conversations. No sign that children were ever here. And you know what? It made me sad. Because it gave me a taste of what life will be like one day when my son has moved away. It reminded me that every day with my shrieking three-year-old is a blessing and that one day I will look up and have my quiet house and will probably give anything for one of these days back again.
I remember when our house was a place of solace, with lit candles and Enya crooning softly from a radio not covered with Sponge Bob stickers. Not anymore. Now the house actually shakes with the endless marching in his favorite cowboy boots. He’s jumping on beds and throwing things into the sink while he “helps” me clean the kitchen. He shrieks of joy every time Daddy or the UPS man comes – we won’t reveal who gets the louder shrieks. He’s singing Jesus Loves Me in the bathtub and the cartoons are blaring as we bribe him to go potty. Our house is never quiet even when my child is not in it for he undoubtedly leaves random toys that he has instructed to go off at a moment’s notice from behind a couch or a chair when I’m alone in the shower. The noise of my child carries into the car, the grocery store, the auto shop, the doctor’s office. I can’t remember the last time I experienced complete and total silence. Until today.
Today while my child was at preschool I decided not to run errands. I decided not to have my hair cut or my nails done. Instead I went to my mother’s house which was the closest place I could find to the school to avoid wasting one second of beloved “me” time driving. I chose to go to my mother’s empty house and write. Or at least that’s what I told people. I was really going to just sit and be. To drink in the delicious taste of silence. And that’s what I did.
At first it was nice. Really nice. And I drank enough of it to last me at least until he’s four. It was quiet. Really quiet. I tried to hear something and couldn’t. No whir of a distant lawn mower. No air conditioner sputtering. No ice dropping in the freezer. Just a faint ticking clock which I say doesn’t count and was probably just something loose rattling inside my head.
After a while though it became too quiet. After a while, I really started to feel what a house sounds like when the children are gone and the toys are shipped off. When the fingerprints are no longer on the door handle and the nose prints have been wiped off the glass. No tiny shoes and socks strewn in the hall. No mysterious items found in toilets and drains. Everything in its place. No more conversations. No sign that children were ever here. And you know what? It made me sad. Because it gave me a taste of what life will be like one day when my son has moved away. It reminded me that every day with my shrieking three-year-old is a blessing and that one day I will look up and have my quiet house and will probably give anything for one of these days back again.
1 comment:
Grrrl, I can SO identify with ya!
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