Going Crazy One Noise At A Time

At my core I’m a laid-back individual. I enjoy long periods of stillness punctuated by silence. I savor the serene. I crave the calm. I take comfort in tranquillity and prize the placid. What I’m trying to say is I don’t like a whole bunch of fucking noise and chaos around me.

And yet I thought having children would be a good idea.

For the most part I’ve learned to deal with constant cacophony (dude, I’m killing the alliteration today!) of everyday life. I’ve learned to tune out the usual whines, screams, and the most annoying and lied about of sounds, the laughter. (I swear I’m not a psycho and hate the laughter of all children. It’s just my two oldest have the absolute worst laughs. They literally go hur hur hur in an overly affected way that makes me want to stab myself in the eardrum with an ice pick just so I don’t have to hear it again.) But it’s been raining for the last week which means that my kids have been getting no outside time causing a buildup of excess energy that seems to be fueling their most obnoxious traits. Seriously, it’s like the worst parts of their personalities are drunk, coked up, and got told that reasonable behavior was talking mad shit about them.

For example my six-year-old filled the few brief moments yesterday afternoon that he wasn’t talking with screams, guttural howls, and loud nonsensical sounds. For a little while I wondered if maybe he was in a Speed-like situation where someone planted a bomb on him and if he didn’t make constant noise it would explode. That obviously wasn’t the case, I mean he did fall asleep and not blowup – no matter how much I wanted him to. My middle child has become a being of pure snark and sarcasm. I’m pretty sure David Spade is his Patronus and Anthony Bourdain his spirit animal. And my oldest… well actually he’s been pretty cool these last few days. He also likes quiet and calm. And, just like his old man, has very little patience for the two youngest members of the family. Though unlike his father who will just leave the room and go and hide somewhere, he deals with it by screaming at them, so maybe he hasn’t been that cool. It just seems that way by comparison.

Anyway, my life has been nothing but a complete lack of chill and quiet, and I’m running out of places to hide from the children. I’m beginning to think seriously about hiding in that big bottle of bourbon I keep stashed away but that doesn’t seem like a healthy solution to the problem.

The rain should stop this afternoon though, and the sun will shine tomorrow, so if I can survive the rest of today so should the kids.

If not, y’all’ll see me in the news.

Wish us all luck.

 

 

My Children: a brief summary

I’ve got three of them. All boys. The youngest is six, the oldest is thirteen, and the middle boy is nine.

The middle one, the nine-year old, he’s only comfortable wearing what would traditionally be considered girl’s clothes; dresses, skirts, glitter, sequins, rainbows, kittens, pinks, purples, etc.. He has a beautiful head of long, thick, dark, wavy hair that makes most women jealous. He’s a fan of wearing dark purple and black lipsticks. He’ll also get super pissed if you mistake him for a girl and is willing to throw down on the playground if you talk shit. One day he’s going to be the most popular person at the drag club.

My oldest is hyper-intelligent, witty, creative, can’t tie his own shoes, and wouldn’t notice Bigfoot and the Loch Ness Monster getting it on next to him on the living room couch unless someone deliberately pointed it out to him. He’s been tested repeatedly to see if he’s on the spectrum but the professionals have all said no. One doctor did say that the boy might not be on the spectrum but definitely has a very clear view of it from where he stands. He’ll also from time to time tell me how hot he thinks some random guy on the television is and then stare at me with a blank face to see if I react. I still haven’t decided if it’s his way of letting me know he’s gay (he’s admitted to his mother that he thinks he might be but I’m not supposed to know that) or if he’s just fucking with me for his own amusement.

My youngest is so destructive he gets fan letters from natural disasters praising him for his work. He started talking at two and hasn’t stopped once in four years. His mother and I have had strangers who have observed our interactions with him in public places come up to us and ask if he’s always like that and then comment about how exhausted we must be. Once the vice principal of his school asked him if he had a good day and he answered that yes, he had a very good day. “Oh yeah? Well I heard you spent some time in recovery today,” the vice principal said. “Yes. That is true,” he answered. “How was it a good day if you got in trouble?” she asked. “Because I had fun!” And he did, because he always has fun. So. Much. FUN. I’m personally tired of the fun.

So, yeah… those are my children. They are the greatest joys in my life and the reason I occasionally weigh the pros and cons of becoming a functioning alcoholic. You’ll be hearing a lot about them in the future.