Home Alone

The children are at my parents for a couple of days and the house is quiet and empty. We've seized our chance to do the things we never have time to do, and there have been dinner and drinks and a movie and dinner again. But the house look funny when the kids are not around. Deserted. Messy in a different way. No toys scattered, no lego on the couch, no railroad tracks in the living room, no tower of blocks to stumble upon in the hallway. No cars on the stairs, no jam on the kitchen table, no underwear on the bathroom floor. But there are dishes in the sink and makeup on the counter, a bar of chocolate on the livingroom table, shoes in the kitchen. There are bags in the bedroom and newspapers everywhere, hats and gloves on the floor, books beside the bath. It's a grownup kind of mess. And as much as I enjoy sleeping through the night, I like the other one better.