The decibel level of my sons is the thing I complain about most. Even when they’re telling secrets they are loud.
In a lot of ways it is ironic since I remember being a new mother and begging for them to start speaking. Now, I’m often yelling (also ironic I know) for them to quiet down.
In fact, I was just about to tell them to be quiet a few minutes ago when it dawned on me.
“I can hear them.”
I can laugh at the conversations they’re having with each other (“But she’s just a girl who is my friend.”) .
I can anticipate when they’re about to come to tattle about someone (“I’m telling mom…”).
I know when they’ve had a bad day (“Did you get time out?”) .
I know when they’ve done something they shouldn’t and are trying to figure out what to do without telling me (“Uh oh…”)
When we travel as a family it means I overhear conversations meant for ears smaller than mine. I get to hear what they’re seeing and feeling and that’s a privilege and a blessing.
I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to tolerate the loud-talking forever, but I’m trying to remind myself that there will come a time in their teens when it will be closed mouths, phone calls that need to be taken in another room and password protected emails that will drive me crazy.
For now I’m going to do my best to curb my tongue and listen in…before they learn to whisper.