We've become a noisier house since Kirk went missing. It's not connected - at least not directly, although being a single parent isn't always the smoothest path. Having Children turn into Teenagers probably has a lot to do with it as well (and let's face it, we've never been exactly restrained when it comes to the laughing and the talking).
I'd like to blame it on the Male Child because... whoo boy is that one noisy piece of humanity. It's not just the usual male stupid-body-part-noises, it's the clap that he perfected (nearly capitalized that but realized that made it look like a disease... heck it almost is one!) where he cups his hands just right and... I shudder just thinking about it. Reactions have been increasingly negative though and he's starting to catch himself after just one explosive percussion.
However, I have to admit that at least some of the noise is me, and honestly? It's simply that there are moments when a little shoutiness is the fastest, easiest way to get something across.
I stroll one evening last week into the living room after an exhausting hour creating Very Important Digital Graphic Art. I have been giving loving guidance (also shouted, but because it's the only way to be heard above conversation mingled with Child 3's Atreyu CD) about dishes, homework, sweeping and decrumbing-counters because I'm a really involved and loving mother. I emerge though (blinking a little - dark room for to better see the screen; v bad for eyes I know) to find a. no Children in sight and b. the sort of scattered detritus that gives me facial tics. I could, of course, go into each respective bedroom and calmly alert each Child to its impending doom. Instead I stand in the middle of the whole mess and make a sort of AAAUUUGHHHHRRRRGGGGLLLLLEAUGH!!!!! noise at top voice.
There must have been a slightly sociopathic edge to it though because there was an instant scuttling out of bedrooms and some obsequious fawning around my dainty ankles as they gathered up socks (clean AND dirty just for variety), books, homework, dishes etc and hurriedly hustled them out of sight.
So, do I feel guilty for shouting at the Children in that sort of bestial way? Or do I note it down as an excellent technique, probably best used sparingly so as not to wear off the effectiveness? Personally I'm going for the latter.
I love you Children! But pick up your damn socks...