We have a noise-making family. Note the use of the words noise-making, as opposed to noisy. I make that distinction because I wouldn't really call us loud, not most of the time, but we are not quiet, either. In the mornings we start out quiet, usually making little conversation over breakfast and mostly spacing out over our cereal. Then the boys will usually begin "shinging", their word for the sound two swords make when they meet. So they shing with their light sabers (or anything long and non-flimsy) for a while, and then it's on to cars. Now, if you are a mother of boys, or a sister to boys, or if you have spent any amount of time with any typical boy under the age of, say, 17, you know that boys are all about sounds. Every toy makes a sound, whether it's cars (of course those make sounds) or books. (Yes, books. Did you know those make sounds? Apparently they fly, they crash, they blow up....) The only really quiet time in our day is when Reed is at school, Phill is at work, and Jax and Savvy are napping. (Often at the same time, to my delight.)
But guess what? During that quiet time, unless I'm sleeping, I'm humming the latest song to get stuck in my head, or playing some music, or making weird aimless little sounds that just seem to come out of nowhere. (Ask my mother. I was hardly ever silent as a child, and really until I was 13 I don't think I shut up for longer than a minute at a time. Not necessarily words--little melodies or beats or sounds or voices or....it really is a wonder I wasn't saddled with a diagnosis of A.D.D., but I mysteriously kept my noise to a minimum at school. If I wasn't making noise, I was wiggling. Oh, the energy my mom put into trying to get me to focus on more than one thing at a time!)
Anyway, what I'm getting to is this: When Phill comes home, all of our various noise-making habits come together in one great DeVault Orchestra. Sometimes it's harmonious and pleasant--the boys shinging, Savvy laughing at something Phill's doing, myself humming something--and sometimes it's less like an orchestra and more like a great big whirring, hissing, trembling machine whose sound waves flatten small shrubs and trees within a mile of us. It really is miraculous, the amount of noise a little family can make. But I really do love it--happy or not, it's the soundtrack of my life (oh, so cheesy, zero points for originality on that one), and I honestly don't think I'd have it any other way.