All by myself, don’t wanna be….

Since Thanksgiving, our house has been full of company in one way or another. It started off small, with my mother-in-law coming back with us from our trip up north. I got quite used to seeing her each and every day as we ate lunch together or watched movies while Bicep’s was hard at work.
And then, right before Christmas-my mother-in-law was joined by the remainder of the family.

It was glorious, wonderful, family bliss (after I got over the stress of planning everything-let’s be real).

 

Dinners were loud, desserts were consumed without regard and the dishwasher ran around the clock.

 

Bicep’s family transitioned to the their respective homes shortly after Christmas-and my family transitioned into our home days later.
We visited a winery, ate more desserts, played the DIY Family Board Game that Bicep’s and I created, and drank lots of coffee.

 

We sat around for hours with the fireplace roaring, chatting into the wee hours of the night. Maxwell became so used to Dakota-my parent’s pooch-that snuggling became commonplace between the two.
The house was full of life, noise, and people.

 

And as my parent’s pulled out of the driveway, we waved back and forth until we couldn’t see one another any longer, with tears falling down our cheeks.
While I take down the Christmas ornaments, the tree, the lights, and the decor, I am surrounded-for the first time in a long time-by silence. I box it all up, cart it up to the attic-the whole while-silent.
Thick, lonely silence.
Some of you may dream of such silence. But silence day after day isn’t so fun anymore.

I sweep, mop, scrub toilets, change out the laundry-more silence.
Sure-I can put on music, and I did. But, there’s not a body here to chat with.
And, it’s weird.

I’m not sure what to do other than make light of the situation and sing, “All by myself, don’t wanna be, all by myself…” just like Bridget Jones did.
Which is even weirder when you are belting that tune out into your broom handle and the mailman catches you as he drops off your daily dose of junk mail.
Sorry about that, Mr. Mailman. Just write it off as a weird, lonely housewife.
I’m sure you’ve seen it all before…