Yesterday afternoon I experienced the first day of quiet in my house in 17 1/2 years. Emma packed enough household goods for a 1300 square foot cottage and moved into a 12 x 12 dorm room for two at Agnes Scott College a week ago. Julianna went to a not-so-slumber party with Bailey the evening before; therefore, she came home and drifted off to golden slumbers on the living room couch. Yesterday, Will gathered the last of his necessities--toothbrush, Lectric Shave, and a jar of peanut butter-- and headed to the University of Pennsylvania with his father in a Honda Odyssey packed with books, t-shirts, and angry defiant music.
By noon, the house was silent. No tv blared, no banjo strummed, no cell phones hummed. I didn't trip over stray shoes. I didn't hear doors slam when I suggested it was time to take out the garbage. I didn't even hear the Disney channel remind me that the Suite Life, Wizards of Waverly Place, or Hannah Montana would return in a moment.
It was the perfect day to clean house, to grade papers, to read the many books I have put off, to catch up on sleep. It was the perfect day to take a bubble bath without being interrupted, to write the first chapter that has been stuck inside my head, to watch the DVDs that have remained unopened. It was the perfect day I have been dreaming of for 17 1/2 years--a day to myself in my house with no where to drive, no obligations except my own.
It was the perfect day to sit alone, to cry, and to wonder where the noise had gone.
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