The noise level in my home is so loud that it can rival any Motley Crue concert. The radio and TV are constantly blaring even when my kids are not in the room (hello, shut it off when you leave the room I’ve said it a million times!), with the air conditioning humming, between the two shadows I have vying for my attention – the my four year old spewing out questions in rapid fire, literally anything that pops into his head: “is birds poop always white?”, “tonight I’m gunna give you a dutch oven, wanna smell my fart?”, “do you think I can be the next John Cena, oh yea, I’m the next John Cena, you can’t see me” to the eight year old attached like a tail moving in perfect sync with me from room-to-room as he doles out random animal facts while I take a shower: “Mom, did you know that the winged back duck-tailed turtle only eats shell fish”, while I’m blowing drying my hair: “Mom, Mom MOM ya know that was a Gorilla in Ice Age not an Ape, I can tell from it’s butt, ha, it’s butt”, making breakfast: “Once in captivity a Panda ate cereal, for real! He liked Lucky Charms just like me”, folding the laundry: “I bet Matthew would make a good lion, they are carnivores, they sneak up on their prey, Matty loves sausage and he sneaks up on me all the time, I hate when he does that”, mopping the floor (okay, that’s a stretch, I don’t mop) but you get the point.
The noise. It’s so loud. I can’t take it. I want my mommy.
There are days that I just can’t think or form a complete sentence, and if I’m on the verge of actually completing a sentence I’m interrupted with an animal fact or a four year old question on why the sky is blue.
I get up at 5:00-5:30 a.m. almost every day for “me time” to exercise, to unwind, to stay fit, to begin my day so I don’t go bat shit crazy. But some days, even if it’s an hour of hard core sweat it still doesn’t quell the desire to put a muzzle on my children.
There I said it. Muzzle my children.
“Please honey, give me a minute I need to think.” “Let’s play the quiet game now, no talking till we get home.” “Stop, stop, STOP talking I can’t think.” “Don’t come to me unless there is blood, I need my privacy in the bathroom.”
I’ve said it all.
I even yelled “SHUT UP!” Oh the horror. Not my proudest moment.
Oy. To. The. Vey.
I long for some quiet. You would think that at work I’d get some relief but it’s actually worse. 60 women over 40 it’s WAY worse.
I bet, no I know when the house is empty, when my boys are teenagers, in College, hanging with their friends, wanting no part of me, I’ll long for the noise. I’ll long for the farts, for the random animal facts and questions, hell I’ll probably long for just a shrugged “hey”.
In my quest for silence, in my quest for a moment of peace, I guess I’ll have to find that in the car, on my runs, or maybe I’ll lock the shower door because now I do, I do have to stop and listen, so I’ll get more than a shrug when their 18, and hopefully a dutch oven or two.
Yes I just said that too.