It was quiet in my house this weekend. Eerily quiet if you are used to the normal level of screeching and hissing that becomes white noise when you are raising three daughters. I wandered around my house in the quiet trying to figure out what was wrong.

Traditionally if my children are extremely quiet one of a few things is about to happen: a) something is being destroyed, b) something is being eaten that shouldn’t be eaten or c) very expensive makeup is being used as a mosaic on my bathroom floors. I shuffled around, doing a head count and found something odd. I repeatedly found all three of my children in the same room. All weekend long my house would get quiet, I’d go looking for them and find all three girls huddled together and here’s a headline— not making mischief.

They played dress up, pulled out board games and played tug of war with our dog, all three girls against Moses. (He still won.) Aubrey, Emma and Sadie piled up on the couch to watch a movie, then begged me for a quilt to take outside. While wandering through the kitchen in my pajamas I caught a glimpse of them through the screen door.

The light outside was golden, orange and yellow leaves gently swirled to the ground. I could hear their laughter and conversation spilling in the kitchen door and I watched them across the yard. Aubrey was wearing her Halloween costume and raking up a pile of leaves at the bottom of the slide. Emma and Sadie sat in their playhouse above her, bundled together in a quilt, watching. Once Aubrey finished she climbed into the playhouse and helped Sadie sit on the slide. Their peals of laughter ricochetted through the cool fall air as leaves flew up as Sadie slid into the pile.

It’s hard sometimes, in the screeching, homework doing, dinner cooking week— to remember that these moments exist. It’s easy to become so busy in doing that we don’t remember how much we have to be thankful for. I stand at the screen door until the wind begins to chill me and dusk begins to fall. I call the girls inside and during bath time and dinner, brushing hair knotted by the wind and jumping into leaves— I forget, again.

Emma runs crying into the room brandishing a bite mark, “Sadie bit me!!”

I forget the golden moment and slip into Mommy Dictator mode, “SADIE!”

Sadie sits in timeout, chubby arms folded across her chest in defiance.

“You need to apologize to your sister,” I admonish.

“She can say sowwy to huhself!” Sadie smarts off.

“No she can’t.”

“Oh, cuz she didn’t bited huhself?” She asked, feigning ignorance.

“No she didn’t.”

“I want to get a new family!” Sadie threatens.

“We’ll miss you. Should I pack your things?” I ask.

“Well… not wight now. I’m gonna get a new family later.” With her change of heart Sadie apologized and finally everyone is in bed. Until they’re not. And I forget, again how lucky I am to have them. I am tired and sick and I just want to sleep.

“PLEASE stay in the bed!” I beg as one by one my husband and I put them back in their beds.

The house is quiet, everyone is asleep. I straighten the covers on Aubrey’s bed and kiss her curly head. I pad quietly to the kitchen, flipping off lights, checking the doors. I walk into Emma and Sadie’s room. Emma’s empty bed confuses me for a second until my eyes adjust to the dark and I see two small shapes under the covers of Sadie’s bed.

I smooch their warm cheeks while they sleep, curled around each other like two baby kittens. Their sisterly squabble of less than an hour before is clearly forgiven. I wonder at what drove them to the same bed, laughing to myself that sleeping four feet away from each other seemed like such a hardship when only an hour before they were ready to trade each other in. I inhale the sweet smell of their heads and for a moment, I remember.

Something weird is happening in my house. It’s a phenomenon I don’t know quite how to deal with and it’s a bit unsettling. I believe it’s called “peace and quiet.” There have been a lot of changes in my house in the last few months. In addition to getting my two oldest daughters back into school, I’ve gone on a cleaning rampage in my house. I made seven trips to The Salvation Army last week, giving away everything from books to clothes and old bedding. If we aren’t using it or wearing it— I want it out of my house.

I crave simplicity, a place for everything and everything in it’s place. I’ve organized baskets for homework supplies and my kids shoes. I’ve rearranged furniture in my house making the rooms more user friendly and two of my daughters switched bedrooms. Now my oldest daughter, Aubrey, has her own room and the two younger girls are sharing. It’s a match made in heaven. Aubrey has outgrown the need for a light to be left on and craves quiet. Emma and Sadie like to listen to music while they drift off.
More than the furniture has shifted. I see my daughters’ relationships with each other changing. I see more of their own personalities emerging every day. Aubrey and Emma have been learning to cook with me over the summer, simple things: scrambled eggs, toast, a grilled cheese. And now when I wake up to start our school day, I’m no longer trying to do fifteen things at once.
“Momma?” Aubrey asks, “I’m making eggs, do you want some?”
“Sure,” I nod.
“HURRY and get dressed! We are running late, I’ve got to get dressed and still got to pack your lunches!”
“I can make lunches,” Emma, my six-year-old offers. She grabs her step-stool to reach the deli meat and cheese from the fridge and goes to work. I put the sandwich bags and all of her supplies within reach and as I walk to the back of the house to get dressed I hear her yell, “AUBREY! DO YOU WANT TURKEY OR SALAMI?”
“SALAMI!” Aubrey yells back.
Dressed, I rush back to the kitchen to see Emma picking peppercorns out of a slice of salami.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Aubrey doesn’t like the peppers.” She states.
“I know, but I don’t usually pick them out.”
“That’s how she likes it,” Emma shrugs.
Aubrey helps Sadie, my three-year-old, find clothes to wear. It may be rain boots and an old dance costume but my standards are low so I don’t say a word.
As we walk out the door Emma stops in her tracks, “Oh no!! I forgot to put a note in Aubrey’s lunch box!”
“You can see her from your lunch table, just wave at her.”
Sunday we missed church, again. If I’m not traveling then somebody is sick and with three kids it can take a month before everyone is well. Aubrey sat in the sunroom with me, quietly reading while I worked on my laptop. Emma laid sprawled across a chair in a nearby room playing a game on my borrowed cell phone. I opened the door so we could hear the wind in the trees outside. The rustle was so constant it sounded like the ocean. I leaned my head against the sofa and marveled at the peace in my house. I thought about the baby and toddler stages of my children’s lives and realized that part of their lives is over.
But I don’t miss it. I enjoyed those years. I loved them, I savored them. I survived them and I endured them.
But this? This is the good stuff.

*Emma reading to Sadie at bedtime. Magic. 

*It should be noted that in the 37 minutes it took me to post this column WHICH I WROTE ONE WEEK AGO, I had to separate them three times and threaten Sadie’s life twice. But ya know… it’s getting easier.