Shhhhhhh

I have four children. One is almost 11. One is 9.5. One is 1.5-ish. One is probably the size of a tick snuggled all up against my uterine wall.

I’m sort of a bit jealous of that little one. You see, I’m not one for much noise. Don’t get me wrong, I love music, chatter, laughter, TV, fans…just not all at the same time. I could sit by myself in complete silence and be comfy cozy like I was the one all snuggled up to a uterine wall, but that is a disgusting mental picture and I’d like to poke out my mind’s eye now.

Where was I? Oh yes, noise. It doesn’t take but a couple of different, consistent noises to be going at once before I’m frantically trying to find a remote or a passy to stop one of them. No different in the car. I can’t have the girls laughing and giggling with hubs trying to tell me about his day, while Monkey is singing, and the radio is telling us about the next great car deal THAT WE JUST CAN’T PASS UP IN THIS LIFETIME OR EVER EVER ever ever!!!

Something has to be quiet and it’s usually the radio. Oh, I know I could tell my short people to stop having so much fun, but that’s just rude. So, with lightning speed and struggling to suppress my not-so-suppressed irritation, I reach for the radio knob every time. I mean, seriously, how many times do they have to make a car commercial with a yelling car salesman? Do they really think that 1. This is original, “Bob, I think you’re on to something with this here commercial. Yep, yellin’. That will do it.” and 2. That I’m going to actually go to a dealer that has just yelled at me with echo voices and gravelly inflections. Nope, I just turned you off.

Oh, throwing in the revving of an engine helps too.

So, back to my house. Just last night was one of those nights. It was time for Monkey to go to bed, but alas, she didn’t want to, so she decided to scream about it because her vocabulary isn’t quite up to where she can say, “Mom, I don’t want to go to bed right now.” With that going on, the big girls were watching “America’s Got Talent” in the living room, and while yes, some do have talent, it seems that the TV just automatically increased in volume when those who didn’t have talent graced the stage.

I know, if you’re counting, that’s only two noises. But, toss in some RAGING HORMONES, a dirty kitchen, and a bloated belly which seems to look up at me and say, “You’re only a few weeks along, and you look like you’re already showing,” and you’ve got the makin’s for a mom-implosion.

So, what did I do? I let baby girl cry in her bed and I walked out on the porch with my little phone, sat on the concrete and played some dumb game. That’ll show ‘em.

Hmmph!