Our youngest is going through a phase of singing like someone who has had one too many and is at the local karaoke bar. Unashamedly loud, bold, and out of tune.
But that’s not all; the boys seem to be going through a communication phase of increasing raucousness. I try and referee in the middle, asking them to turn it down a notch. I’m not opposed to the sound of excitement and fun; I just don’t want a local disturbance notice posted by our neighbors.
Our little man has some hearing loss, but we are operating at decibels that make allowances for his predicament. I’m going to be honest; it can grate on your nerves. I go through phases of being unable to think straight above the cacophony my offspring produce.
But last night, I had a bit of an epiphany. I could see myself in future years wondering where the noise had gone, wondering when the feelings had learned to be processed with more ‘inside’ voices, where the fun of screaming was a past milestone.
To be noisy is to be sensorily extravagant in our appreciation of life.
It’s the whooping at a concert or the out-loud laughter in the cinema. My boys just happen to find our house a place for great expression.
And the thing is, they know how to behave. I’m not worried about their ability to sit still, be quiet and listen. It is a skill their teachers possess that I watch with awe and a smidge of jealousy. But in this house, where they feel utterly comfortable, they show up fully and in all their unfiltered glory.
Living in a house alive with the sound of life is a privilege. One day, they will be creating their noise somewhere else, maybe at university, maybe in a flatshare, maybe in the annex I threaten we’ll build so they don’t have to leave. But I will miss it so much it will hurt.
I will think back to today when I type this and hear my mini drunk-sounding pub singer. I’ll miss hearing my eldest and his exuberance at winning hide-and-seek. I’ll miss their laughter from the garden as they play. I’ll miss it when they call from upstairs for one more cuddle before bedtime.
And I guess that’s the trick of life, isn’t it? To appreciate what’s happening right now because nothing stays the same. We change, the people we love change, and the things that test our patience today will be the things we miss in the future tomorrow.
I want the noise.
I want it turned up full, with my hands covering my ears and laughing at its intrusion.