January 2, 2026
At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless; Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is, But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity, Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards, Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point, There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.
T.S. Eliot
One thing about co-parenting: every week offers a glimpse of the empty nest. After dropping off the kids, the volume level in the house drops from ten to zero. The hum of the running dishwasher, the din of the air purifier, the faintest buzz of electricity coursing through the home — all that’s audible.
It can feel jarring to go from the shouts and screams, the laughs and games, to quiet solitude. But what’s different here compared to the eventual empty nest status, is that I know the kids will be back much sooner. Two nights, in this case. Just enough time to clean, catch up on work, respond to unanswered texts and missed calls, and spend some time with loved ones. To recharge the batteries, in preparation for another stint of joy, chaos, and love.
Don’t let my thinning, greying, receding hairline fool you — despite the stress, I’m still savoring every bit of this. My daughter turns six next week, and I noted to my parents that we’ll be celebrating her sweet sixteen in just a decade. They laughed. I did too. It will be here soon enough. In the meanwhile, I make sure to give her an extra squeeze at bedtime. While she still reaches for me.