While I sit down to write on
this Saturday morning, sipping hot coffee from my new "Super Mom Makes
Everything Better" mug, I hear these sounds which typically fill our home:
-behind me is a man with his tablet
game, emitting bursts of the most annoying and distracting gunshots. I'm
willing to keep quiet about it because I want to have my husband relaxing near me,
enjoying weekend coffee from his favorite mug that boasts "Best Dad in
the Entire History of the World Ever."
-a seven-year-old boy is
uttering noises that really are indescribable with words.
-a five-year-old boy rushes
to the potty, so I hear his little feet patter across the floor as he yells,
"I'll be right back!"
-a twelve-year-old boy has
just woken up to join the family. He shuffles down our stairs, barely able to
muster up a "Hi," in response to my cheery, "Good morning, dude!"
He's kind of like the melancholy Ross on Friends.
-you'll notice the two
females of the family aren't making much noise. My fingers are hitting the keys
as I attempt to describe the dynamic of this place. However, my darling
eleven-year-old girl has yet to emerge from her bedroom this morning. She's
usually one of the earliest risers, even on weekends, but I'm guessing that
she's upstairs at this moment, intently working on one of her own artistic
creations. We'll leave her to the peace that she deserves. A house full of
brothers is a lot for her, although she'll never admit it. I'm excited to find
out what it is that she has been developing in her lair.
The noise level in this
house shifts within seconds. Isn't that true for anyone with kids or grandkids
around? Peaceful to blaring. Sweet to sarcastic.
From two rooms away, I
hear this exchange:
"That's not nice!"
"Well, you're not nice!"
Aaannnd, now they're friends
again…zooming around with their Lego creations.
So often, we find ourselves
wishing for quiet. Just begging them to please stop talking, stop screaming,
stop fighting, stop making any kind of noise at all.
How many times have you said
this? "Mama has a headache. Would you please be quiet for just five
minutes?"
What about playing "The
Quiet Game" in the car? Basically,
it means no one is permitted to talk during the road trip, and the first one to
open his or her mouth loses. In our car, it usually lasts about thirty
seconds.
What would we do if it
suddenly was quiet...for real? It would be eerie, right? We wouldn't know what
to do with ourselves. I know, of course it would be amazing for a while. Then, we
would miss it. We would miss the laughs, the questions, the sighs, the
nonsense. My mom-brain has been trained to function with so many sounds
cluttering it up, that if I didn't have the constant blubbering of four voices
(and their favorite electronic games) in the background, I might forget how to
be the mom I am.
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