noise

I grew up in a quiet home where books were read and conversations were shared in the stillness of a kitchen. It was a peaceful place.

Our home is a lot of things, but quiet isn’t one of them.

IPods blare from room to room, welcoming Toby Mac in at 9 am and Mandeesa soon after.

“Can I have chocolate milk?”

“Can Ashlyn spend the night?”

“When are we going to the pool?”

Their questions are fired out at rapid succession.

Just when the noise reaches almost more than I can handle, they race through the kitchen, swoop up their baby brother and journey into the yard.

Thank you Lord.

I catch a glimpse of them playing outside, laughing. Their popsicles drip onto their bare feet making them sticky and leaving blots of red cherry behind.

They’ll soon sprint back in expecting lunch or a game of cards or maybe thick paper to paint a new masterpiece.  And the noise will rise once again.

But I know one day, our home will be quiet. J and I will have uninterrupted conversations. I’ll no longer be negotiating bedtimes or refereeing rowdy disputes. Together, we’ll watch television shows that don’t advertise toys during commercials. And we’ll probably smile, reminiscing of those noisy summer days when we never got a word in edgewise.

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