Quiet House

Blessed silence in an otherwise boisterous house. This became the subject of a tangent phone conversation with an old friend of mine. We share something that many parents of young children will recognize: the divine moment you discover you are the only human being awake in the dwelling. It’s a magical stretch. Even spiritual. I've decided to name this oasis in time the "Quiet House". QH is a treasured event for me on several levels.

The Remote. I own it during QH. I can indulge in sports, manly movies, or my favorite DVD. No requests for kid’s shows or complaints about what daddy likes is boring. Period.

The Computer. During non-QH hours my time in front of the home pc is spent satisfying requests for line drawings of super heroes and princesses. My orders are to locate the requested drawing, e.g. "Daddy, I want a picture of Juggernaut fighting Hulk", print it in the appropriate size and then provide positive reviews on the artists' work. There's also the rapid fire requests for pbskids.com and games they can't remember the names of, e.g. "Dad can you put on the game where you hit the ball and there's all those colored blocks and the guy laughs and you have to watch out for the dog off his leash and you can't draw outside the lines?" What??? That makes my brain hurt and it doesn't even sound fun.

But during QH I can check e-mail, write down my thoughts, heck, even have thoughts! It's a glorious time but it is finite. Either I succumb to sleep in the evening or in the early morning sessions, depart for work.

The Reward. The payoff moment for me is the sleep-faces of my son and daughter. Lips parted slightly, breathing deeply, awash in the peace of toddler dreams. Tiny hands clutch soft pandas, fuzzy puppies, fleece blankets. I watch them and recall how they slept during their first weeks of life. The grasping, infant fingers. Warm, sweet breath. Saliva bubbles forming and popping. Nuzzling noses pressed into the joint of my neck and shoulder. Tiny toes peeking out through a swaddling blanket. Each night moves them further in age from those first weeks in our home, but I can still close my eyes and recover those first images in the hospital. The tiny knitted caps. Mittens to prevent scratching. The smallest socks I'd ever seen.

QH. Time for reflection and clear thinking is rare. If you don't schedule it then you must be prepared to seize the moments as they appear. Silence is fleeting in the world of the parent and the employed. I suppose even if you are neither of those things there are so many gadgets or toys created to distract us, silence remains elusive.

Allow yourself to find QH. I read a book called Thinking for a Change by John Maxwell. JM writes about several different kinds of thinking available to us that are as diverse as flavors of Ben & Jerry's ice cream. Depending on your need, you turn the dial to a different thinking mode.

JM writes “If you don’t like the crop you’re reaping you must change the seed you are sowing…unleash the power of focused thinking, recognize the importance of realistic thinking, question the acceptance of popular thinking, experience the satisfaction of unselfish thinking…”. There’s a bunch more and he goes into detail about how to harness each type. JM recommends you find a place and time where you can think. Uninterrupted. I recommend it.

The innocence of the sleeping child distracts me. I could watch them until, head nodding, I must join them in slumber. The QH supplies a respite from the bustle and speed of daily life. For me, I can slow it all down and walk the old paths of memory, rest on the stone bench of reflection and view the stream of thought as it murmurs its secrets if I am sufficiently still to listen.