My house is noisy. Six kids, three adults, two cats and a dog.
Mornings are brimming with activity; dinnertime is bustling with chatter. And in case I haven't told you, I am married to Captain Fun, so evenings are especially loud.
That is why I learned to separate the happy from the unhappy noise.
A whiny child is unhappy noise, as is an escalating argument among siblings.
Squeals of laughter from the den --happy noise. Captain Fun calling out the rules to a game. Ditto.
Silas hitting the piano keys--happy. Silas hitting his sister--unhappy.
You get the idea.
I am a writer--or at least I aspire to be. And writing requires solitude, quiet, tranquility.
In the past I would wait for these elusive elements to come to me before I could write. However, the more kids I had, the less they appeared. Consequently, I have learned to write through the racket. And while the happy noise is easier to embrace, the unhappy is simply part of it.
Now that I have launched three of my nine kids, I know that gradually, yet quickly, both kinds of clamor will fade, and nothing will remain except peace and quiet.
And chances are Captain Fun and I may not be too happy about that.