Halfway through chapter twenty-four of The Awakening by Kate Chopin, Edna Pontellier finds herself alone in her house, maybe for the first time in her life. No husband, no kids, just her children’s silly little dog and some pesky servants. The passage that describes her rapture at the thought of solitude is one of my favorite passages in all of literature:
“When Edna was at last alone, she breathed a big, genuine sigh of relief. A feeling that was unfamiliar but very delicious came over her. She walked all through the house, from one room to another, as if inspecting it for the first time. She tried the various chairs and lounges, as if she had never sat and reclined upon them before. And she perambulated around the outside of the house, investigating, looking to see if windows and shutters were secure and in order…after a refreshing bath, Edna went to bed. And as she snuggled comfortably beneath the eiderdown a sense of restfulness invaded her, such as she had not known before.”
It’s hard for women to find time and space to themselves. We invent all kinds of excuses to get out of the house. “I’m going shopping,” you tell your family, and you find yourself sniffing candles in Marshalls, or touching fluffy blankets in Home Goods. And when you have boys, making time for yourself is all the more crucial.
And so as October looms mere days away, and my sons prepare to leave for the semester, I am faced with the inevitability of an empty, quiet home. I haven’t had one in 22 years. I’m looking forward to it, although I must confess the thought makes me uneasy. Even with frequent travel, the lack of boy noise will ultimately be something I will wrestle with, I’m sure. But there is something that parents eventually realize, mothers especially:
Empty houses and cessation of noise spells success. The unsettling reality of losing your children to the world is the point. When my sons are out of the house working, traveling, playing their sports, entertaining their girlfriends, even screwing up in college, my heart soars. Because I know that I have done what I have set out to do: grow men and unleash them into the world. It is when they are cowering at home, afraid of what the world can do to them that I mourn. They should not be home, at least not all the time.
Visiting, o.k. Cowering at home? Not o.k. They should be gone.
So in dedication to the cacophony that is boys, here is an actual family exchange I took down word-for-word a few years back entitled “Boy Noise”:
One winter Monday morning I was peacefully writing at my kitchen counter. The house was cozy and warm, Mozart was playing through the speakers, and a cinnamon candle was wafting through the kitchen. But by 10:00 a.m. I was forced to pack up and leave to write in the library. My twins, home from college, were in rare form and despite my recriminations to turn off the power if they didn’t stop screaming, their video game cacophony quickened my pulse and forced my departure.
“What the f***?!!! How did I die?”
“Dude, what the F***??!!!”
“If you’re not going to help me, leave me the f*** alone!”
“Is that you? Is that you? Who is that? WHO IS THAT?”
“Where’d you go?”
“Asshole, pause it, and get me toilet paper!!!”
“The Mini-mester starts WHEN? (now speaking to an entirely different person on the opposite side of the globe). “Holy shit, I didn’t even register yet!”
And so on.
I couldn’t even get away from them in the library. The twins started a four-way group text, including in it even their (then) sixteen-year old brother who had done nothing to deserve this except strive in school and sports in order to one day get accepted into a good college. The twins’ texts seemed to indicate that they were shaken to the core with the responsibility of an empty house, a pacing dog and their tape-worm like appetites, which of course they never know what to do with. In my earbuds, I heard a text come through.
Twin 1: “Mom, where are you?
“Library.”
“Why?”
“Writing.”
“About what?”
“About the lack of time and space mothers get when their college-age children return home for Christmas break.”
“Oh. How long do I microwave a bloomin’ onion for?”
“A what?”
“A bloomin’ onion, you know, like a big fried onion ring?
“Why is there a bloomin’ onion in our house?”
“I don’t know, it’s in the refrigerator in a to-go box.”
“Where did it come from?”
“Who cares? How long?”
Twin 2 enters conversation.
“Dustin, that’s mine. I went out to dinner last night, don’t eat that.”
“Please? I’m starving, there’s nothing else to eat.”
“Are you guys serious? I’ve been cooking for seven days straight. There’s leftover meatloaf, meatballs, salad, pasta. There’s lunchmeat and frozen pizza. What exactly are you looking for?”
“A bloomin’ onion, it’s exactly what I was in the mood for. John, please can I eat it?”
Sixteen-year old appears. “Yo idiots, I’m in AP English, will you please get me out of this group text? I didn’t mean you when I said idiot, Mom.”
“Yo, Tommy, come home and play video games with us.”
“I can’t, I’m in school.”
“Sucks for you.”
“Yeah, it does.”
Me: “Can I go back to my writing now?”
Twin 1: “How long for a bloomin’ onion?”
Twin 2: “DUSTIN DON’T EAT THAT.”
“I’m eating it, you went out to dinner and you didn’t bring anything home for me. I’ll buy you another one.”
“Fuck that, no. Don’t.”
“Too late.”
“MOM. TELL HIM HE OWES ME A BLOOMIN’ ONION NOW.”
“Will you guys leave me the hell alone? I left the house to get away from you. Aren’t you both in the house, why are you texting?”
Twin 2: “I’m in the bathroom, I need toilet paper, so I have to wait until someone comes up here.”
Me: “What?! You were waiting for toilet paper when I left! How long have you been in there?”
Him: “Thirty minutes or so.”
Me: “ON THE TOILET?”
Twin 2: “Well, yeah, but I’m not bored I’m playing on my phone.”
Me: “Dustin, why won’t you get your brother toilet paper?”
Twin 1: “I have to finish this campaign.”
Twin 2: “F*** your campaign.”
Twin 1: F*** yours.”
Youngest boy: “I’m turning my phone off, my teacher is getting pissed.”
“Peace out, Tommy. Make good choices.”
Twin 1: “Whose leftover cheesecake is this?”
“DUSTIN, DON’T EAT THAT!”