The flies land randomly, lazily, on the dishes by the sink. The blinds shudder at the threat of a slight breeze. Outside, the stains on the drying laundry disappear under the fierce stare of the sun.
The baby feeds sleepily. The two older children sleep sweatily in their beds, worn out by the heat and by being three and four. The quiet, so rare in this house, feels so loud.
I work quickly, too busy really to savour the child-free moments, glad of the time to do just a few things.
But too quickly the baby wakes, sore with wind. And then the children are awake, more tired than when they went to sleep. The noise level rises with the temperature. Tempers fray. Damp heads clamour for attention, to be left alone, to be fed, to be three and four.
And I smile, because, actually, I missed it.
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I love how you wrote this! Ds starts preschool/day care next week, and I ALREADY miss him!