I can’t talk to my husband sometimes. I really can’t.
I sit here at the end of another exhausting week, spew, green jelly and sweet chilli sauce on my shirt, BIG glass of wine nearby and I almost can’t tolerate a single sound. The kids are all in bed (no words to describe how I love this time) and I’m sitting in the quiet study alone. The only noise is the quiet sound of some Chinese movie my husband is watching. He never got over his love for Taiwanese soap operas and Chinese dramas.
Of all the things I love about my kids, the beautiful smiles, the silly dancing, the gorgeous imaginations, there is one thing I do not deal well with. The noise. There were times, as less than 1 year olds, that the twins would be going off at the same time. It was unreal. Workplace Health and Safety would probably have me wear hearing protection in my own home. If my husband was two feet away from me, I couldn’t hear him or talk to him. There were so many things that he and I wanted to say to each other. How was your day? Have you done the tax? What’s the plan for Saturday night? Where do you stand on same sex marriage? What are your thoughts on pokie reform? Ugh, we would sigh hopelessly, I can’t hear you. Let’s talk later. Which would turn into a mumbled conversation at 10pm while in bed. How was your day. Yeah good. You? zzzzzzzzzzzzzz
At 18 months and 4 years, our boys now have the capacity to all go off at the same time, which creates a cacophony the likes of which no man, woman or child should ever have to experience. It definitely seems to be a domino effect and any one of them on their own would be a dream child. It’s just that, like their parents, they can’t cope with the bloody noise so they freak out. Loudly. Sometimes I’ll yell too, just to join in the fun. My husband and I still can’t talk until 8 o’clock at night and sometimes, when we are in the middle of a cochlea busting sound experience, we just look at each other, roll our eyes and pour another wine.