The house is quiet. Too quiet. Unnervingly quiet, like the hush that falls over the savannah just before the lions pounce. Or, at least, the hush that I imagine, since I've never been to the savannah.
My point is that it's quiet.
The biggest reason for the hush is that the Diva has been up at Grandma's in Rochester for the last few days. The Boy, who is capable of making a great deal of noise, still can't make enough noise for two. Besides, he seems to be thinking, why make a ruckus if it won't annoy your sister beyond all reason?
You'd think that I'd be able to sit back and enjoy the peace. Mostly, I do. It's just weird to have all of this quiet time on my hands.
Before the Boy was born, I thought dealing with just one kid was all-consuming. At the end of the day I'd be exhausted from all of the singing and playing and running. Now, almost three years into having two kids, having just one around feels like a vacation.
Compared to two children (and three or more, I suspect), living with just one child is a breeze. Not to get too cocky, but it's the sort of parenting challenge that I can do with one hand tied behind my back and the other elbow-deep in finger paint.
Frankly, I don't know how childless people don't manage to rule the world. Ditto people with one kid. The amount of time and energy at your disposal must be immense.
Just think of how much time you save even just getting out the door in the morning. The first day the Diva was gone, I was in the car a mere two minutes after rounding up coats and bags. I even had the Boy strapped in his seat, ready to go. I spent the whole day being early for everything. I was stunned, too.
Compare that to most mornings in our house. The first 90 minutes of are day are orchestrated as carefully as Sir Edmund Hillary's ascent of Everest, yet always leave everyone dizzy. I don't know how simply adding a child quadruples the effort needed to leave the house. Yet, it does.
It also quadruples the nagging about putting shoes on and brushing one's teeth and stop fooling around already and get out the door.
Also quadrupled is the likelihood that an adult who hasn't even had one sip of blessed coffee yet will lose her temper in a spectacular fashion.
But subtract a child and we're early for everything. The morning hurricane wasn't just downgraded, it was entirely absent. Weird.
Dinner is oddly quick both to prepare and to enjoy. Getting just one kid squeaky clean is easy as the pie that I've washed out of his hair. And just one bedtime ritual is done faster than you can say "Good night."
My husband and I get to be kooky when we're parenting just one. We watch entire movies without either falling asleep or getting interrupted. We have time to read books and newspapers. Suddenly, we know what's going on in the world, even though we frequently wish we didn't. There is time to have a conversation about something other than which kid needs to be where when. Or needs shoes. Or a new toothbrush.
It's lovely, of course, but it's also freakish and strange. Somehow it's wrong to get through an entire sentence without hearing, "hey, Mom! Look at this!" Quickly, this is followed by the thud of a child hitting the floor after flinging himself or herself off of the couch. Which is then followed by a talking-to about the couch not being a diving board. Which is then followed by trying to remember what I had initially been about to say.
But with just one kid, I can get through entire thoughts. That might be where I find all of that extra time. Those 30 seconds spent retracing your chain of thought certainly add up throughout the course of a day.
Still, when the Diva is gone, it's just too quiet. The break is nice, certainly. The first few days she's away are always giddy, as I revel in getting to start and finish any project at one sitting. I almost think that I could broker that elusive Middle East peace during one of these heady days.
A couple of days in, however, and the house isn't blissfully quiet anymore. It's just empty. Even the Boy is tired of getting to watch his choice of shows. What good is playing with the toys your sister loves if she's not around to complain about it? And, for me, what good is all of this free time if I don't have my first baby to share it with?
After she's been back for a week, I bet I'll be begging for another break. Right now, however, it's just too quiet.
Adrienne Martini is freelance writer, instructor at the State University College at Oneonta and Hartwick College, mom to Maddy and Cory and wife to Scott and author of "Hillbilly Gothic," published by the Free Press.
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