Noise
Three boys can make a hell of a lot of noise. I'm talking actual boys, age-wise, not men who decided never to grow up. Kids ranging between seven and nine years. Boys.
They are made of snips and snails and puppy dog tails, and these ingredients are glued together with massive amounts of noise, which is emitted every time they move and meet together. Incoherent screaming. "Aaaaaaaaaaah!" Then laughter and giggling. "Heh-ha-hih-hih-hih!" Then some yelling. "Aah! My lower portions! Aah! You're killing me! Aah! That's not the rules! This is the rules!" Purposeful bad grammar and bad math in loud voices. Thump-thump-thump of small feet attached to skinny legs attached to bodies you can still lift, so how the hell can their walking and running make such a huge amount of noise? Thump! Thump! Thump! Crash! Bam! They throw themselves about the room. Plastic swords flash about, slamming into other swords and soft body parts and walls and furniture.
How the heck am I supposed to read while this is going on downstairs in the basement? My two nephews and one of their friends, being boys.
My third nephew, the one living in that "freedom" country, generally isn't as noisy. He's going to be twelve this year and is focused on other, not-so-boy things now. It's kind of depressing. He's not a kid anymore. Not really. He'll be a teenager very soon. He'll hit that growth spurt and get furry and his voice won't be that high boy-tone but deep and manly. He'll no longer be anywhere near the baby nephew I used to carry and sing "Winnie-the-Pooh" to and bounce 'til he giggled. He won't be the toddler who pointed to the sky and said, "Moon! Moon!" because it was such a beautiful surprise to him. He'll look at me and see old fart Aunt Sugar Kat and not know what to say anymore.
I don't mind the noise so much, as it means these two are still young. Eventually, soon, they'll get quieter and whisper instead of shout because they know a grown-up female's in the house and they don't want that to be overheard. Still, I like looking at their faces and seeing the change. Every once in a while, I catch a glimpse of what they'll look like when they're teens. When they're men. I feel proud when I catch that glimpse. As they grow older, the glimpses are more frequent and last longer. It's sad. It's amazing. It has happened trillions of times before with trillions of other boys. It's not special, but it is. It's wonderful. I can remember when they had to crawl from place to place. I can remember when they couldn't speak words. I get to watch as they grow up. This is very cool.
Expecially since, as their aunt, I don't have too many responsibilities. I just get to watch them grow and spoil them rotten. That's my job. It's a good job. But I'm not getting much homework done. I'm too busy watching them play three-way hockey.
They are made of snips and snails and puppy dog tails, and these ingredients are glued together with massive amounts of noise, which is emitted every time they move and meet together. Incoherent screaming. "Aaaaaaaaaaah!" Then laughter and giggling. "Heh-ha-hih-hih-hih!" Then some yelling. "Aah! My lower portions! Aah! You're killing me! Aah! That's not the rules! This is the rules!" Purposeful bad grammar and bad math in loud voices. Thump-thump-thump of small feet attached to skinny legs attached to bodies you can still lift, so how the hell can their walking and running make such a huge amount of noise? Thump! Thump! Thump! Crash! Bam! They throw themselves about the room. Plastic swords flash about, slamming into other swords and soft body parts and walls and furniture.
How the heck am I supposed to read while this is going on downstairs in the basement? My two nephews and one of their friends, being boys.
My third nephew, the one living in that "freedom" country, generally isn't as noisy. He's going to be twelve this year and is focused on other, not-so-boy things now. It's kind of depressing. He's not a kid anymore. Not really. He'll be a teenager very soon. He'll hit that growth spurt and get furry and his voice won't be that high boy-tone but deep and manly. He'll no longer be anywhere near the baby nephew I used to carry and sing "Winnie-the-Pooh" to and bounce 'til he giggled. He won't be the toddler who pointed to the sky and said, "Moon! Moon!" because it was such a beautiful surprise to him. He'll look at me and see old fart Aunt Sugar Kat and not know what to say anymore.
I don't mind the noise so much, as it means these two are still young. Eventually, soon, they'll get quieter and whisper instead of shout because they know a grown-up female's in the house and they don't want that to be overheard. Still, I like looking at their faces and seeing the change. Every once in a while, I catch a glimpse of what they'll look like when they're teens. When they're men. I feel proud when I catch that glimpse. As they grow older, the glimpses are more frequent and last longer. It's sad. It's amazing. It has happened trillions of times before with trillions of other boys. It's not special, but it is. It's wonderful. I can remember when they had to crawl from place to place. I can remember when they couldn't speak words. I get to watch as they grow up. This is very cool.
Expecially since, as their aunt, I don't have too many responsibilities. I just get to watch them grow and spoil them rotten. That's my job. It's a good job. But I'm not getting much homework done. I'm too busy watching them play three-way hockey.
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