I have three siblings and I know we never fought like my kids do. If we had, I think my mother would have maimed us. She wasn’t the type to tolerate such shenanigans, that is for sure. And for the life of me, I can’t figure why they think I do. Oh yeah, that’s right. I’ve already lost my mind.
Summer vacation is such a glorious thing shimmering on the school calendar horizon in say, February. Right about then the constant rain makes this mama start to fantasize about all the hours that could be spent basking on the beach, her happy children frolicking in the sand. Of course, by the time June finally rolls around and that same mama realizes how overbooked she has made her summer, she realizes not much frolicking will be occurring. Actually, our summer has had many fabulous high points. It just has gone on about 3 weeks too long.
That’s because about 3 weeks ago, I started to crack under the constant barrage of the bickering. How 3 such beautiful children can create such a cacophony of chaos is beyond me. I actually found myself telling the little rascals that I hoped they all had several children just so they could finally know what it is like to have your sanity slowly ripped from your body via your ear canals.
I don’t know about you, but it isn’t the high pitched screaming that rattles my nerves, although that does get the blood pressure pumping to be sure. No, for me, it is that slowly advancing army of destruction. The one that starts with, “Mom, he just touched my side of the couch!” and follows with, “Whatcha gunna do about it?”
People with only one children live happily in the land I once inhabited. Our first son was about 2 when we started thinking about the possibility of making ours a home of 4. I remember standing there, looking down at his angelic face as he entered his second hour of afternoon nap-time-nirvana and thinking, “Okay, I could do this. I could have another little person like this.”
Except that with each child, no matter how sweetly they slumber, the amount of noise that said number of children can generate during their waking hours grows exponentially. My house is loud. Real loud. If I had to pick the thousands of Legos hiding in the carpet or the sounds of my three children conversing, I’d pick stepping on Lego Land Mines as a much more pleasant experience in a heartbeat.
You see, any conversation between two of them reflects the wants and desires of each opposing child. Then the third one chimes in, begging to be heard. It just gets louder and louder and louder. And then they start getting mad. Egad. It is like a rock concert but without all the shiny lights and magic smoke to make it all seem special. By the time they all get to bed at night, my eardrums are convulsing in my head, terrorized by yet another normal day in my world.
In just a short time, my days will be filled with the daily juggle of making lunches, meeting school busses, and checking homework. And you know, I’ll probably end up missing the sounds of those three little angels of mine arguing over who gets to sit in the middle of the couch. But probably not until about February when I start dreaming about the sounds of summer again.