Rejoicing

"So are you rejoicing in the fact that your kids are going back to school tomorrow?" Jacie emailed me last night. Hmmm ... "rejoicing?" Is that the right word?

The alarm clock went off at 6:00 a.m., instead of my week long luxury of sleeping in until 7:00 or -- gasp! -- 7:30. No, no rejoicing there.

I showered, still half asleep, then hit the dark kitchen to make Aidan's lunch and get the kids' backpacks ready. Still not awake, cold, and longing for my warm bed. No, no rejoicing there.

I woke the kids up and struggled trying to find something for them to eat for breakfast. They didn't want anything. I couldn't blame them, yet I knew they had to eat something or else they'd crash around mid-morning. They grumbled at each suggestion but finally settled on something. If nothing else, their growth spurts are now officially over and once again they're eating like birds. But that interchange over cereal or oatmeal or bananas took far too much of my (non-existent) morning energy. No, no rejoicing there.

We bundled Aidan up and readied him for the bus. He looked so cute, and so small out there. I felt that familiar twinge, of missing his cute conversations and ready smile. He's a good helper, and enjoys his superior role as "Big Brother," being able to help get snacks or juice out, printing out coloring pages for them to occupy their time. I do miss his company, having gotten used to having him around. No, no rejoicing there.

I just returned from driving Grace to school. Walking out into the bitterly cold morning, sitting in a bitterly cold car. Giving one last big hug to my girl who is finally feeling so much better and back to her usual chatty, hilarious self. Our Christmas Tree experiment worked -- unfortunately. The tree has been gone several days now, and with each day came much improvement. The allergen is out of the house; our girl is feeling better. Darn. She's been so cute these past few days, so happy and cheery. I'm going to miss her company as well. No, no rejoicing there.

And yet ...

The peace and quiet in my house now, as I sit here alone, is indescribably luxurious. The only sound I hear is the occasional ping and pop in the radiator, and Jack's collar tags jingling as he rolls around on the floor. Gone is the constant -- and I mean constant -- noise over the past week. Gone is the daily effort for me to try to ignore the continuous activity and sounds. I am the kind of person who needs a good, hearty dose of quiet at some point during the day in order to recharge my batteries. Over this past winter break that rarely happened. And since it was so cold, and since my kids aren't the outdoorsy type, I couldn't depend on the backyard for any support. We were all stuck in the house, together, climbing over and and bumping into each other. I would turn around there's Grace right behind me. I turn around again and nearly trip over Jack. I walk into my bedroom for a moment's quiet breath, only to find Aidan following me.

Rejoicing?
OK ... maybe a little bit.