Thursday morning July 4th, Eli, Shulamith, Swen, and I stopped by Holiday to fill our Stanleys with Diet Coke, then headed to Riverton Cinemark to watch "A Quiet Place: Day One," the prequel to the franchise, whose plot centers on an alien attack on earth by hundreds of giant, hairy, humanoid monsters, who respond only to sound and are apparently blind and unable to swim. In order to avoid being attacked and eaten, everyone must be completely silent.
This makes for a very quiet movie.
Ironically, that same day, my own home returned to its typical "quiet place."
Lemme just tell you that I make a terrible empty nester. I seriously suck at it. Because our children are spread out by 15 years oldest to youngest, I had some combination of children, teens, and young adults living in my home for well over three decades. It was pure delight! When Seth left on his mission in 2018, Isaiah was back with us, after graduating from college and dealing with several crazy, awful roommates, so even with Seth gone to Paraguay for two years, I still had Isaiah! When COVID shut down the world, and Seth returned four months early with all the other North American missionaries, I had both my cute boys home with me through the pandemic.
In the fall of 2022, Seth moved to Orem to finish his degree at UVU, and Isaiah found a studio apartment in downtown Salt Lake. They did this all in the same month (rude!), and suddenly, for the very first time, I was an empty nester.
I didn't like it.
I still don't.
We're told to deal with life's changes by looking for the good in the new situation wherever we can find it. The one and only good thing about having my five kids out of the house is the two additional closets available. I can now rotate my wardrobe through the seasons, rather than storing off-season clothes in plastic tubs under the bed. Hooray!
This in no way compensates for how much I miss my favorite people on earth. Not even close.
Fast forward to May 2024. Gerald and I went to the Pacific Northwest to visit our families. Our first night there at nearly 11 p.m., I received this text from Amanda: "Everyone is okay. Can I call?" My family and close friends understand my anxiety and know never to just call me without any warning. Most of them are pretty good at doing what Amanda just did, assuring me that all is well before moving to the reason for the text.
"Yes!" I replied. "Call me!"
My phone alerted me to her call, and she explained that their house sprung a leak from the second-floor bathroom, and water was pouring down into the garage. Eeeeek! She had shut off the water, leaving no way to bathe or cook or whatever, so she asked if they could go stay at my house. Of course! Late that night, the three of them drove over to our house and moved in.
That was two months ago. Their situation was frighteningly uncertain at the start, when an over-zealous insurance agent claimed emphatically that the damages would not be covered: "We never cover mold, never," she maintained. But a couple days later, she called back (less zealous) to report that while she'd never seen it happen in all her time working there, Eli and Amanda's agent had, indeed, adjusted their policy to cover mold. (Note to self: Make sure your homeowner's policy is thorough.)
Everything would be covered, minus the $1,000 deductible. Oh the joy and relief! They would also be reimbursed for housing, since their home was deemed "unlivable"; thankfully, this reimbursement would more than cover the deductible, far more. A sad and scary incident turned into a blessing. They would get a brand new bathroom and some unexpected cash. And I had my Eli and his family here with me. I was not an empty nester at all.
Our two months together were not without excitement. One day, their 2.5-year-old daughter, Jane, found herself a red Sharpie and decided to try out her artistic talents on my white fabric couch. Amanda jumped into action, researching how to get Sharpie out of light fabric, and then spent countless, tiring hours, for several days treating the stain until it was completely gone.
I also have a white throw pillow with the names Terrianne, Gerald, Luke, Shulamith, Isaiah, Eli, and Seth on the front. I prefer this pillow to be on my couch. Jane prefers it to be on the floor. She and I played this game nearly every day for the full two months, and I can report with only the slightest humiliation that Jane won every last time.
But the joy far outweighed any inconvenience. I've always felt that multigenerational living has huge advantages over isolated, single-family residences. Historically, it was the norm in the U.S., until the post-war industrial boom of the 50s pushed people to believe the "American Dream" included a home for every couple, separate from their parents. That said, the trend toward multigenerational living has made a fairly strong comeback in recent decades, partly the result of a struggling economy, but possibly for other reasons too.
Our home in Sandy was designed for multiple families with its daylight basement apartment with separate entrance and kitchen; alas, this house is not. Still, we had such a fun two months together, and although we are all grateful that Eli and Amanda's house is now fully repaired, I think we all felt a bittersweet melancholy when they moved back home Thursday. I think we're still feeling it two days later.
Today, after a lovely, 5-mile walk in the cool morning, I cleaned my four bathrooms and started laundry. Then I lay in my zero gravity bed and watched a movie. It was relaxing, yes.
But I miss them. Really, I do. I was never cut out to be an empty nester. And my home was never cut out to be.....
......a quiet place.

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