The evenings were actually quiet. Almost too quiet. For the first time in our almost ten years of married life, my husband was away on a business trip and I was alone in the house. Ok, not alone, the kids were there too. But once they were in bed for the evening, I found myself with a whole evening to myself. The silence was deafening. There were plenty of things I should have been doing: dishes, laundry, general cleaning up. Instead I spent the time enjoying some uninterrupted dessert and lots of knitting. The first night I stayed up ridiculously late and still couldn’t sleep. The second night (also election night) I stayed up late but had an easier time sleeping. By the last two nights I was so tired that I almost fell asleep on the couch. Each night as I made my way up to bed; locking the door, shutting off the lights, closing the baby gates on the stairs I was aware of how quiet it was and how alone I felt. It was an interesting change, though not one I’d like to repeat anytime soon, but the novelty wore off quickly. I like the sound of his voice. The way he empties his pockets at the end of the day. While it’s usually annoying I even missed the way he manages to drop something off his end table late at night or first thing in the morning, often waking up the kids. Too much quiet isn’t a good thing.