A strange silence has descended on our house. 

Fourteen months ago, Harry moved back in. It was a tumultuous time – for him, and for us. Big feelings, frayed edges, lots happening in his life and in ours. It wasn’t neat or easy, but it was necessary.

When Rain was born in May, we offered for Makayla and the kids to come and stay, to make recovery easier and so she could have an extra set of hands. What I wasn’t prepared for was the joy of the next seven months. The deep, everyday kind. The kind that sneaks up on you while you’re making toast or picking up toys.

Seven months of adventures, giggles, cuddles and tantrums. Jam toast breakfasts. Snuggles in bed watching Pixar movies. Bikes in the court. Picnics in the front yard. Visits to Aunty Brandy. Walks in the jungle. Endless trips to the park – the sandpit park, the blast off park and the park with the big ants. 

We’ve watched the seasons turn without really meaning to. Autumn leaves falling in the yard, the jungle walk and the lower block near the river. Winter spent snuggled up inside. The sparrows at the front door losing one clutch of eggs, then -thankfully – successfully launching another this spring. The first hot days of summer marked not by the calendar but by small bodies paddling in the pool, shrieking with joy and drinking the water after the dogs also paddled in it. 

In the last 7 months, we’ve celebrated eight birthdays. Malakai turned three. Carter turned two. Sasha turned one. The huskies turned six. Makayla and Sir (Josh) shared a birthday. I (Nanny) turned none of your business. And Harry turned twenty-four.

We’ve walked the streets admiring Halloween decorations, and somehow blinked and found ourselves in Christmas. Walks and car rides taken purely to spot Santa lights, ordinary evenings turned into magical moments, for all of us. 

And then there were the games: the make-believe scary ones. Halloween ghosts and zombies. Shelob spiders. Egyptian mummies. All of them somehow involving Nanny as the monster, chasing them, catching them, wrapping them up and “eating” them to varying degrees of dramatic protest and delight.

We even created a small ritual – touching noses with fingers and saying “bop.” It started as nothing, really, and became ours. The best part is when they do it back to me, unprompted, as if it’s always been this way.

There’s been fighting (all of us), screaming (all of us), and laughing (all of us). It’s been the best of times and the worst of times. And today, this chapter of living together as an extended family ends as they move into their new house – a whole six minutes away.

This past week has been confronting in small, unexpected ways as they’ve gradually moved their things. I’ll open a drawer for a plate and realise the kids’ plates and bottles are gone. It’s those tiny signs of their daily presence that I’ll miss the most.

Don’t get me wrong – we’ve been looking forward to this day. A fridge that closes properly. A washing machine that’s occasionally empty. Floors free of toys. No surprise crumbs or dummies down the couch.

But I’m both dreading and looking forward to the quiet that will settle over the house.

I’ll miss the morning cuddles. I’ll miss the enthusiastic waving when I head off to work. I’ll miss the calls of “Nanny!” when I walk in the door in the afternoon.

It’s been such a gift to be known and loved by these children in a way that only shared living allows. We’ve seen each other at our best and our worst.

I know they’re close. We’ll see them often. But it will be different.

Thank you, Makayla and Harry, for trusting us with your treasures. Malaki, Carter and Rain have left their mark on us – imprinted on our hearts, forever.

We love you and wish you well in your new home. And of course we’re available for babysitting, clothes drying and computer gaming.