A couple years ago I determined, without the help of Science even, that there is in fact a Loud Gene. I know this because Simon is loud, Gabe is loud, his brother is loud and even their dad can get loud. Get all four in a room and you’ll easily experience 80 decibels.
On Tuesday, Simon and I went to the local ceramics painting place so Simon could do some projects for his grandmas. I decided to paint a cute plaque and once it was all yellow, green and fabulous I realized I had to Put Something On It. Great. I could not think of anything clever or inspired–I even called Gabe who couldn’t be put on the spot (how could he be on the spot?? that’s where I was!). Simon and I discussed it for a while when I said I should write, “Boys Equal Noise.” He looked at me like I was the rudest woman in the world. So I painted four stick figures, put our last name on it and called it good.
But seriously, if I had a nickel for every time I asked a boy in this house to be quiet I could buy a lot of gumballs. And that’s not my usual tactic, I try to model the quieter behavior by talking just above a whisper but Simon doesn’t get it and I’m not really the boss of Gabe so I do what I can. It’s like my family suffers from Voice Immodulation Disorder.
Oh, and forget Owen. He is the loudest of them all. Just last night he was talking in the bath so loud that my ears hurt. We are becoming That Family at restaurants with the noisy kid. He sees food and just YELLS for it, takes a bite and YELLS about it, wants more and tells me so by YELLING. Currently he is banging a knitting needle against the metal baby gate and yelling about some social injustice (yes, I said knitting needle…he’ll be fine). But for now it is at least joyful yelling. God bless us when he learns to talk.
some days, all you can say is, "uff dah" 