Savor the noise

Constant noise. No release. No peace. No quiet.
Maddening. Cut your toenails to the quick. Makes you want to scream.
Noise.
That was one thing I never anticipated being a problem back when our fourth child was born four years ago. Lots of diapers? Yes. No sleep? Of course! But noise? I never really thought about it.
Let me tell you though, the noise level  around my brood has become a constant threat to what’s left of my sanity.
It’s worse in the Suburban. Voices and opinions and arguments and children vying for our attention reviberate off the walls and bounce around in the limited space. Confusion is high. And since their voices aren’t being heard, each child kicks it up a notch.
The driver. You used to know her as Ginia. She is the worn-out, wide-eyed, frazzled dregs of what is left of a once upon a time fun-loving gal.
Tuning them out works some times. But that’s not how life should be.
And it is much harder to tune them out (ignore them) when we are all sitting around the dinner table.
Honestly, the threat of corporal punishment has been used  when my patience are thin (which makes the volume seem worse anyway). It works for a few seconds and then the dial turns back up.
I’ve been trying to figure out a way to organize the noise madness because I truly want to hear nearly everything they have to say. They totally crack me up! I know all parents must say this, but I feel that our four are some of the greatest, most unique and interesting people I know! I love getting to know them and watching their personalities develop.
Being a parent is truly the hardest and yet the most fascinating work there is. Bar none.
But the head-pounding noise has to be contained or minimized.
Lately we’ve been spending as much time as possible outside, thanks to the gorgeous weather. That helps. Car trips are always precarious. And after spending all this time typing (venting) these complaints to you, a reality has settled in the pit of my stomach. The noise isn’t going away.
It won’t be like the diapers or the sleepless nights.
The noise is here to stay.
And that is comforting and disconcerting at the same time.
The noise means there’s life, there’s fire inside each one of those precious souls. Desire to be heard. To make a difference, even if it’s only in a car-ride conversation.
That shouldn’t be stopped or dampened or quieted down. And anything multiplied by four is going to be a lot.
So I’m going to get over it (I’m ordering myself to get over it). Relish it. Memorize it. File it away in my memory bank for later-in-life withdrawals when all is quiet. Too quiet. And all I want is to be the worn-out, wide-eyed, frazzled dregs of what I was before my life really began.