Quiet is a space that lives mostly in my head right now.

It’s the pause as the children look up to ascertain how serious I am in my loud cry to, “Please be quiet, Mommy is trying to think!”

It’s the moment between my apology to the people we are with that we are not a quiet family and their confused expression moves between irritation and understanding.

It’s the middle of the night when the baby let’s go with a trickle of milk on her chin and her eyelids flutter.

It’s the warm breath turned to soft snores on my neck as I carry the Quail to her crib.

It’s the expectation in my call and responses with Zuzu. The nightly love calls before she settles her head into her pillow for slumber and then again the next morning as she turns away from me with a last wave or kiss to walk through the glass doors of school.

It’s the last syllable steadied on my tongue as I measure if the Quail needs one more word of encouragement to grip her teacher’s hand and march in to her day.

It’s my signal to look down and into the eyes of a baby who is studying the ways her family moves, loves, communicates.
It’s the between in our lives right now.

Stop.