Loud and Dear

The children are screaming again. It is all coming back to me now. The tragedy of the beginning of the school year is upon us. Early bed times. Early wake-up calls. Long days in short desks for her, and for him the jealousy of not starting pre-Kindergarten until after Labor Day. Everyone is tired and cranky. And apparently my offspring stress most efficiently through vocal usage. Marty has been whining for sixty straight hours. Even in the middle of the night, he wakes up crying that there might not be cowboy clothes in pre-school. And Maura vacillates between sing-songy repetition of her brothers and creative top-of-her-lungs renditions of made up songs. She is the newest craze in singer-songwriters apparently; but she is entirely too loud. Only the toddler makes sense these days. Who knew that the most helpful and well-behaved child, not to mention quietest, would be a two-year old boy?

Of course he has his own vocal needs. They are just shorter, quieter, and much more focused. Seems he has all but given up on the pool, and has now graduated to “I go polka, Momma. I go polka.” Who knew that polka could be so important to a two year old? His Nana is Polish and her brother is a card-carrying member of the Polish American club who hosts a gigantic Polka Party every year in his back yard. Last year the cops were called. They bit back snickers when they arrived at what they thought was a loud keg party to find a bunch of dancing geriatrics drunk on jello shots and Polish brandy. This year Sean was invited and immediately began his mantra: “I go polka.” I can’t imagine what he thought it was before we arrived.

He waltzed right in (or should I say polkaed) like he owned the place that night. He was the youngest guest in attendance of course, but that certainly did not stop him from joining in the merriment. His usual fave band the Wiggles was soon forgotten as he stared glassy-eyed at the Honky Express, a raggle-taggle group comprised of a guitar player, saxophonist, drummer and the requisite accordion player. When they took a break, the four accordion garage band took the stage. Sean was smitten from the first three-step. He jumped, boogied and even stood on his head to the beat that night. And ever since then he has been recounting his evening. Albeit in short (and quiet I might add) phrases.

So tonight, I cannot decide what I need. If the Honky Express would have me I could go for some saxophone jamming. At least I would be making my own noise. And I sure wouldn’t mind drowning the cacophony around here in a plate of stuffed cabbage or a symphony of blackberry brandy. But its bedtime now and as I sit in the quiet, I already forget the crazed vocalists that inhabit my home. Bedtime brings the sweet sound of silence to my ears. And that is something worth dancing about if you ask me!