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Music. Laughter. Crying.
Lawn mowers. Big trucks driving.
Cars – too fast. People walking by.
Children.
Car being fixed.
Oven. Fan. Eggs to-be-hard-boiled boiling.
Potatoes sizzling.
Phone ringing.
Aerosmith singing.

How the noises change when one becomes a parent. That was the cacophony heard around 1pm today. I was listening to music, trying to get lunch on the table. Lunch becomes our big meal of the day when Peter works 2nd shift. (Yes, Tri-Met, it’s 2nd shift not swing because swing suggests moving from one shift to another!) This way we can have a nice meal together and the rest of it is easy. It’s been argued this is how people should eat, but I digress.

The cacophony of sound heard. Peter was fixing the Bravada so that we have an extra car to drive to otherwise engage ourselves while the other car is with him at work. I was making eggs, potatoes, and bacon for lunch, and boiled eggs for later. So, the stove was bubbling and sizzling while the fan was running. We were listening to an arrangement of modern country splattered with Aerosmith on the computer. I was chatting on the phone to a friend.

Suddenly, the crying begins. It was Levi. My dear husband was having a rough time fixing the car, so he shooed Levi away. Poor Levi, in his “I’m a sensitive 3-year old” mode, was very affronted and ran off crying. His cry was like that when he trips and falls, which he’d done maybe 30 minutes earlier.

It’s that kind of day. Interruptions, things not going how we want, which can all amount to noise. We were supposed to have dinner with a friend, but she got hurt! Twisted the knee. I think all these noises serve as  a way for Universe to tell us to, “Slow down!” How can we really listen to one thing over another when all of this noise occurs? It’s very difficult.

I was trying to find out what happened to Levi when he came running to me, needing a good snuggle. I asked my husband, who couldn’t really hear me over all the noise. And, I couldn’t really hear him over all the noise.

Levi doesn’t express himself well. Meaning, he rarely tells us what is wrong when something is wrong. He could have been pushed, bitten, shoved, called a mean name, and all he does is cry. So we soothe him but can rarely fix anything unless another parent or child confess to the happenings.

Noise was the impediment today. My husband couldn’t say to me, “Could you get Levi inside while I fix this silly truck, please?” because of all the noise. I couldn’t hear him because of all the noise.

With all the missed calls, twisted knees, and hurt feelings. I think we need to take it easy for the rest of the day. We’ll have to try to connect with the other friend, and perhaps, meet for a low-key play-date at the park after dinner.

Universe? Will that be okay? Will it be okay to let in some noise?