This post was actually from last week, but I've been having blogspot issues. As it is, I still can't include any pictures... sorry.
Pretty much all my friends have kids. Back when I was married and trying to have a baby, I’d go to my friends’ houses with all their noise and chaos, and I'd be so heartbroken when I got home, by the quiet in my house. I so wanted to hear the pitter-patter of little feet, of giggles and cartoons and playfulness.
Back then, I thought our home was quiet with the absence of little ones. But there was still the sound of my (now ex-) husband’s office chair, occasionally creaking as he worked on the computer. Of him clomping down the stairs with a “hey baby, what’s shakin?” or a joke or a story. The crack of his pop can being opened. Even just the companionable sound of him turning a page in his book.
These are all sounds I almost ignored at the time for want of something different. Back then, I thought our home was quiet.
At first I thought my new house was completely silent. I was nostalgic for what little noise existed in my old life. I thought the place was going to feel empty and I’d eventually go crazy. But I don’t want to make the mistake again, of listening so hard for what I want my home to sound like, that I miss the preciousness of what’s really there.
I’m just getting to know my new house, but I’ve heard the sound of rain on the roof. Of the birds chirping at the feeder. Of hundreds of trees sighing as the wind blows through. Tires crunching on the dirt road, announcing a visitor. And of course, Esme the wonder-doxie, padding softly behind me from room to room, or thundering through the house on a wild hare.
These are the sounds of home, now. And maybe most of those sounds aren’t made by people, but I am not alone. There is life here, all around me, and I’ll listen because I’m part of it now… and because it’s pretty incredible here, at home.
