The kids have been gone since Sunday afternoon. The house is quiet, and feels darker and colder. No screaming and shouting, no lights left on all over the house, and no complaints about the heat being too low.
I have happily sprawled out all of my jewelry making supplies in the living room, secure in the knowladge that my beads won't get snatched by little fingers or other items lost under the couch. I've watched grown-up TV shows and crafted in peace.
GH and I have gone to lunch and eaten hot wings until we burst. We went out to dinner, and were seated like lightning at a table for two. We've eaten dinner late, and drank wine in the living room. We made spinich and didn't hear one cry of outrage.
These precious days seem to be flying by. There are a lot of things I want to tackle this week, and I hope to get them all done. It's a lot of living to cram into one tiny week.
And each night, I call the kids. They both sound so happy on the phone, but profess to miss me in sincere tones. I can hear their voices echoing in the empty house. Though I enjoy the time apart, I can't wait to see them again at the end of the week.