Ode to an empty house

You love your kids, but still.

As the front door opens to let the last child out, the peace and freedom gently breezes in.

As the front door closes, you let out a sigh. Your time is now your own. For a few hours at least.

There are things to do, but will it really matter if they don't get done today? Or at all?

Seize the hours and cherish them. Because this is their gift to you.

The chance to dance, without embarrassment, theirs, not yours.

A time to sing, while no-one's listening.

No requests, no demands, nothing that they have to tell you right now, no hunger, no thirst, no loo roll shortages, no bug extermination crises, no weird noises that require immediate investigation, no DVDs to be changed, no worrying smells.

An exploration of rooms uncluttered by children, carefully treading in teen territory too. Who knows what you will find?

A chance to cry, with no-one asking why.

A time to talk, without interruption. To write, when the inspiration takes you. To clean, cook, create or craft.

To leave the house with one bag, and return with many, and all will still be in place.

But after a few hours, it seems too quiet and empty. And you start to listen for the bell or the knock on the door. And welcome them home with a big smile and a hug. And the house is no longer empty, it's full of life, and so it goes until tomorrow.


  1. I so get this - you long for them to be gone and then long for them to come back. A lovely post x

  2. Beautifully expressed! I can relate :)

  3. I was delighted to read this post the other day knowing you had a well deserved rest.. It reminded me of the saying 'Be careful what you wish for'. We pray for the day we can have some peace and then we don't know what to do with our time, but it is petrol in the tank for other days.

    1. Luckily I'm never short of things to do if I do get a quiet day :-)