The Noisy Hours

The Noisy Hours

6am. My toddler wakes and

pounds on the door,

soon followed by my five-year-old

and four others.

From that moment, until each child is

snug in bed, I am in an ocean of noise.

Voices

beating against me,

washing over me, sometimes making it

hard to breathe.

I'm not good with noise.

Ironic, considering as a child my

voice carried three houses over.

My children have my robust voice.

Yet if I can listen beyond the noise, I find

laughter growing from geeky jokes, funny faces;

pretending, exploring worlds that only live in the mind;

singing, off key and full of heart;

thumping feet of healthy rambunctious children;

constant voiced “Mommy”,

letting me know I'm needed and loved.

Even the spats between siblings,

tantrums, and complaints are

blessed noises, because they remind me to

teach my children in a better way.

Patience. Daily lessons in patience.

And a yard, where children can play loudly.

A fisherman faces the sea each day,

to provide for his family.

I face a sea of noise each day,

to nurture mine.