Noise Polution

The school year has ended and summer vacation has gotten under way. “Hooray,” I shout, but not before I cover my ears. With the kids in the house, all day long, the noise decibel is killing me. Holy cow. Daughter spends large blocks of time singing and playing the recorder. Do you know this instrument? It’s a plastic clarinet that sounds like a pig trying to shimmy through it. Dear God, who made that thing and gave it to elementary school children and told them it was music?!

As I’m desperately trying to put this blog post together Son is pounding away on the drums. He’s in the basement on one side of the house and I am on the second floor on the OPPOSITE side of the house. I’m too lazy or crazed, you pick, to shut the office door. And guess what? He’s a GREAT drummer. I say this, because if you’ll allow me a moment of bragging, Son played “Dance The Night Away” by VAN HALEN at his drum recital. Those of you that know me personally, know Son could have given me no greater gift. And guess what? He surprised me! I didn’t even know what he was going to play until he introduced himself. Thirteen years of yelling, “stop that, don’t touch that, go to bed, and get off the video games,” paid off. He loves his mother. Collective sigh.

And of course, because the kids are home I hear a lot of “Mom, can I, can you, when will we?” non-stop. It would be quieter if I took my lap top and tried to write on a corner in New York City. Don’t my children know an author needs quiet to create?

I remember the days when I longed for them to say, “mama,” to call to me instead of the undistinguishable screaming of a baby. Now all they do is scream at each other.

My mother tells me I’m going to miss all the noise in the house some day. Could she be right? Will I long again, but this time for the disruption, the fighting, the playing of the pig squealing recorder?

In the words of Gabriel Hunter, “As if.”

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