The silence is deafening.

All day, the house is full of noise. Kids playing, singing, bickering, running around. Doors opening and closing. The phone ringing. Dishes clanking. The television or radio playing. The sounds of a family.

Sometimes it's too much, and all I want is a little peace and quiet, for god's sake.

Usually when the kids are all finally in bed, Michael and I heave a sigh of relief and enjoy the quiet. We enjoy some hard-earned adult time, whether it's him in front of the TV and me in front of the computer (or lost in a book), or some stimulating conversation over drinks shared on the patio swing.

And sometimes, like tonight, the kids are all in bed, and Michael has crashed early, and instead of savoring the quiet and solitude, I mostly feel lonely. There isn't a sound in the house except the sound of my own thoughts. The quiet feels mournful and oppressive, and I suddenly feel sad.