For the first time since March 2020, my house is quiet. There are zero bigs in the house at the moment, only littles, who are so much more quiet than their slightly older counterparts. I shouldn't say zero bigs because my three minis are still home (homeschool lessons won't begin until after Labor Day), but there aren't any big friends here doing school work or playing. Today. That will change, as they just happen to not be here today. But that's not the point.
The point is it's quiet. I can hear when the littles roll a train across the carpet. This is such a change from screaming being drowned out by the overall noise from the bigs. It's odd, to say the least. It wasn't just the summer. I've had bigs in my house learning, playing, socializing, doing big kid stuff for the last 18 months. To not have them running through my house isn't just odd, it's sad. It's something I'll have to slowly accustom myself to.
Nap times can run smoothly once again, there's no one talking over me as I try to give directions, no one asking if we can order pizza (right after we've eaten lunch), I can play Van Morrison without someone asking me if we can play another song that's better. This brings me all the feels and mixed emotions. One of the things I'm really excited for: to do story time again. The bigs took over story times for me for the last eighteen months, so I'm greatly looking forward to reading Go, Dog. Go! and Oh, The Places You'll Go! without someone "helping" me. But the quiet that is filling my house reminds me of the absence of more special humans in my house. Even as I try to enjoy the quiet, the emptiness of the house chokes me.