Waking up in a quiet house is equally blissful and disconcerting when you're used to the constant hum of little girls playing pretend, screen doors slamming and the staccato of little bare feet scuttling across hardwood floors.
I reveled in the silence this weekend and spent hours lolling in the bathtub, in my bed and lazily working on my computer, knowing that my children were literally as happy as pigs in mud on their grandparents' Alabama farm.
I only had a few moments of mommy-induced Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, when I lay down to take a nap and kept thinking I was hearing my baby crying. I realize that all mothers have a little bit of crazy in them, so I shrugged it off and got my nap in.
There's definitely something to be said for being able to go to bed whenever you feel like it with no hassle. No screaming kids, no endless diatribe of excuses to put off bedtime. But I realized all of the bedtime drama I've become accustomed to over the last six years also comes chock full of precious and tender moments that can't be replaced with simple silence.
While sleeping alone is sweet, it's not even in the same ballpark as a nightly contest with a 4-year-old and a 5-year-old trying to outdo each other with "I love you all the way to the moon" type of statements.
I desperately missed rocking Sadie to sleep, those few minutes every night when she, my youngest, has my undivided attention. She lies cradled in my arms as I sing through her favorite songs, her eyes growing heavy with sleep and her sweet little pillow lips pursed together seriously as she listens intently. Hearing her sweet little voice say, "Night-night, momma," makes my heart flip flop as I gently tuck her into her crib.
I enjoyed the freedom a weekend without kids gave me, and felt liberated as I sat at my computer to write with no one unplugging my laptop or trying to pop keys of the keyboard. I was able to complete thoughts, and for the first time in several years, I was able to finish a cup of coffee without being interrupted multiple times. I usually either finish it cold or admit defeat and dump it out after a few hours.
Waking up whenever I wanted to for several days was refreshing and wonderful but nowhere near as heartwarming as walking into my baby's room in the morning to find her standing at the end of her bed with her arms outstretched and her cheeks still rosy with sleep. That first hug of the morning, with my baby's arm wrapped all the way around my neck, is enough to make me believe that baby lotion commercials are more than just a conspiracy to trick you into procreation so you'll have to buy their product.
I found myself this weekend, writing with Nickelodeon in the background just to maintain a sense of normalcy and to keep the silence from becoming deafening. It was reassuring to find that my husband and I still had plenty to talk about without a houseful of screaming kids, but after 24 hours we both agreed that the house was creepily silent.
On Saturday Zeb left for Alabama to spend the night at his parent's house and bring our girls home. The four-hour drive home took him roughly six hours with all three kids and he reported they had to stop five times on the way back to the Delta.
Before I even had time to wrap my arms around each of my children and squeeze them tight, I had to break up three fights and yell repeatedly, "Somebody shut the screen door! The bugs are getting in!"
The door slammed shut, a single note in the soundtrack of my life, sweetly signaling the end to my weekend of relaxation and the return to business as usual.
•Robin O'Bryant is a mother to three daughters, author and Greenwood resident. Read more at her blog at www.robinschicks.com or e-mail her at robinschicks@gmail.com
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