The Sound of Silence

For the first time in nearly four years, I woke up Sunday morning to silence.

Well, not actual silence – Dave was snoring his happy little it's-Sunday-morning-please-don't-wake-me-yet snore, but for the first time since Owen was born I didn't hear crying, chattering, yelling, babbling, talking or even heavy sleep-breathing.

(A quick sidenote: Friends have been telling me for months to ditch the baby monitor, but I always find a reason to keep it – Jake's sick, Owen might be up playing all night, the two of them might be fighting, or a cat may be trapped in their bedroom. All likely scenarios, but the fact is simple: I like hearing them. I love the sound of their heavy breathing when they're sound asleep, I love waking up to the sound of Jake gurgling happily as he plays with his feet and I love when Owen's first words each morning are to say hello to Lightning McQueen or Buzz Lightyear.)

But on Sunday I heard none of that because the boys had their first-ever sleepover at my parent's house in Rhode Island.

I had initially called my mother to babysit Saturday night, thinking she'd spend the night on our couch as she has countless times while we went to Spiderman (which, by the way, was awesome). But when I asked she countered my offer with an even better one: Bring the kids down early Saturday, set up their beds, get them comfortable and then leave. She even offered to bring them back on Sunday so we wouldn't have to drive down to Providence again.

This is something we've considered before, but we've always been too anxious to follow through. True, they did raise me and my sister, but let's face it – the last time they were in charge of two kids under 4 for 24 hours was about 30 years ago.

But we took a leap of faith, bought ourselves some tickets on Fandango so we couldn't bail at the last minute, packed up the car early Saturday and were back in town eating popcorn and watching previews by the 4 p.m. show. We had a great dinner in the North End, picked up some dessert at Bova's and then came home.

When we went to bed we laughed about the quiet, and wondered aloud how the kids (and my parents) were faring. But it wasn't until morning when there were no little faces to greet me, no diapers to change, no chaotic breakfast to make at 6 a.m. and no bored kids to entertain by 6:30 a.m. that I really felt the difference.

My parents showed up around 11:30 a.m. with Owen and Jake, who both ran in excited and giggling. Mom and Dad, on the other hand, looked exhausted – but happy – and handed Dave the car keys and asked if he would go get the gear.

All in all, the night was a huge success. My mom was psyched that we had finally agreed to let her keep the kids overnight and encouraged us to do it again, soon. In fact, she suggested we do it every couple of weeks.

Dave and I looked at each other when she said that. Within the space of about 5 seconds I thought quickly about how adorable and cute our kids are, how much I missed them. Then I thought about the long, lazy breakfast we had enjoyed just a few hours before, and remembered that our fifth anniversary was just two weeks away.

"What are you doing the weekend of May 19th?" I asked, not skipping a beat.

Silence. And then a sudden jingle of keys from my father.

"We better get going," he said, pretending he didn't hear me. Within minutes they were out the door.

I'll give them a couple of days and then try again. A little bit of early morning silence every now and then? I could get used to that.