All the Noise
All the noise. All the noise. All the noise, noise, noise, noise! There is lots of noise going on at our house, well pretty much all of the time. I am sure that I will miss it when my kids are grown, but at this point in our lives it is a challenge just to survive it. For a good portion of the day all five of us are here, and the kids and I spend the majority of our time in the house because this is where we study and work. At the end of the day, I retire to my beautiful back porch, where it is blissfully quiet, to read. This daily retreat is my means of survival.
Of all of the noises, the most terrible is the squeal. All three of my kids can accomplish this noise, even my son. My youngest is the most accomplished at it because when she gets going, and believes herself truly affronted and put upon by the universe, her entire language moves into the range of the squeal, and it is physically impossible to get her to stop producing the sound, (well that’s not entirely true, but I adhere to the do not smother your child rule.) I am honestly surprised that she has not yet caused all the glass in the house to crack and shatter.
When she is in this state, she feels that it is imperative that she either voice her grievances until she feels better about things, or deliver the ultimate punishment of her voice on our home and the surrounding area. I’m not sure which it is exactly, maybe both. Two birds one stone? I have delivered punishments, taken away privileges, threatened, begged, and even cried for her to stop, all to no avail. The sound is so acute, and so perfectly designed as the ultimate kryptonite for myself in particular, that it renders me completely incapacitated, and barely capable of intelligent thought. I don’t know if this is because the creator is just having big fun up there torturing mothers, so that he can laugh his ass off while we are suffering, but for whatever reason the sound can seriously take me down.
The biggest problem is the duration, because once she gets wound up, it takes more than an hour for her to wind down. When I get to the point where I feel like my ears are actually going to bleed, I will physically move her to her room, and close her in. It only serves to muffle the shrill mind-scrambling soprano however. Ironically, the torturous notes are a representation of the emotional pain that the child wholly believes herself to be experiencing. Neither of her siblings are bothered by the auditory assault a fraction as much as I am. My husband, it bothered by it, but I don’t think that it physically paralyzes him in the same manner that it does me.
I get that there is a natural reason to all of this. The sound of our own child’s distress should be severely upsetting to a mother, because it is our number one responsibility to protect them. I just wish that it didn’t serve to work as a weapon against us. The other day a mother mentioned to me that the reason teenagers are so difficult to deal with, is because if they were nice or sweet, we would never let them leave the nest. I suppose that my daughter’s blood curdling squeal exists to achieve the same purpose. Moms deal with so many things that can never be understood outside the experience of motherhood…give a mom a hug today. You know that she deserves it and she probably needs it as well.