Sunday

Steve’s been away since Thursday, on a boy’s only golf vacation. Sometimes when he’s gone I sleep sideways on the bed, thoroughly enjoying all the lavish space. Other times I wake in the morning and his side of the bed is completely untouched, the only evidence that anyone was there at all is my mussy blankets. Every once in a while, I call the dog up with me, and she cuddles my feet while I sleep.

But most often, I have trouble sleeping when he’s gone. Every noise in the house makes me jump, I worry that the kids will wake more than usual and I’ll be sooooo tired the next day. I stay up late and read, just to avoid the overwhelming silence of my bedroom without his breathing.

It’s been a long weekend, what with company and kids running on “manic” which inevitably leads to hard crashes just before nap and bedtime. As Leila sobbed in bed last night about some minor infraction, she asked me through her big watery blue eyes to please stay up late tomorrow night. Not a bloody chance I thought to myself (Sunday nights are always early nights in our house, plus I knew how tired she’d be), but told her that we’d see what tomorrow brought.

Most Sundays, I look forward to the peaceful mid-morning coffee Steve and I share. We play with the kids and nap when they do and bathe them after supper and somehow, they seem to love this too, as they always settle well on Sunday nights. It’s long been my favourite day of the week, purely based on the quiet “nothing to do-ness”.

I work extra hard on Saturdays (Steve always works weekends) doing laundry and cleaning and getting food prepped so that we can take the day off. Our lives are so very busy, we need this quiet day. It is the balancing of our sometimes run-ragged weekdays.

He’ll be home in two hours. amazing how much you can miss someone in a noisy house in four days.

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