It's lonely in a house half-empty

Boxes are filling, flaps closing, tape sealing, rooms emptying.
Our bedroom echos the sound of the kids' laughter as I chase them around the house with my tickle monster hands, always ending up in a pile on our bed where little sister waits in gleeful anticipation.
Our bare walls bounce our voices back and forth, no longer muted by the quilts, the paintings, the desk full of papers. The house is an odd mixture of stark cleaness and confused packing chaos.
Sunday evenings are always the let down after the high of the weekend. Hubby leaves in the afternoon to go back to his training, leaving an obvious void in his wake. All the giggles and jumping of yesterday are muted, mellowed with the absence of the one who radiates energy and excitement. Though we are a family of five, when he is gone, our house is half empty. He brings out a different side of the kids, one that is special just between them, one that I cannot replicate. When he is gone, I see only one side of the kids. We are all half-empty.

This last week, before the Tropical Storm rolled in, we splashed our way through the days.




And when it got too hot, we came inside to find other silly stuff to do.