This morning, I woke up to a quiet house. Monday’s are my older girls’ sleepover night at my mom’s. They look forward to it and it gives them one morning a week that they don’t have to wake up so early. It also helps reduce the number of drop offs and pickups in the morning. Last night, Rose went too. After she was diagnosed with a cough, her one hundredth pediatrician visit this school year, we decided she’d stay home the next day, just to get some extra rest.

I set my alarm a little later. I lingered in bed until after my husband left for the office. I only turned on the lights that I needed. I didn’t have to interrupt my morning routine to get anyone dressed or do anyone’s hair. I didn’t have to pick up fallen socks or toys as I made my way down to the kitchen. I only had to take care of myself.

I stirred my coffee and placed the spoon in the sink.

That’s when I heard it.

The quiet. It nearly stopped me in my tracks.

We moved into our new house in November and I don’t think I’ve been alone in our house since then. Between the kids and Arnauld mostly working from home, there is always someone else here.

It’s a very lovely quiet house. The quiet invited me to sit at the kitchen table and watch the sun rise over the base of the hill that our house sits on.

This morning, I soaked in the quiet. This afternoon, I’ll be ready for the noise and chaos to return. Without it, I wouldn’t be able to appreciate the quiet.