My weeks now fluctuate between periods of calming quiet to great chaos and noisiness – such as when the boys and their friends pile home and decide to camp. Baskets of dirty laundry return home to the mother-ship. Tubs of blankets, pillows and sleeping bags (that I just folded, rolled and neatly stored away) come back downstairs. The freezer and fridge are raided. The ice maker is emptied and put into mass production. Shouts of, “MOOOOMmmm, where is __________?” echoes off the walls.
The doors bang open and closed numerous times. Then, the dogs begin to bark. If they are lucky and super persistent, maybe they will get to go camping, too. I hear many trucks and cars. I can’t tell who is coming or going. The 4-wheeler revs to life. Wait – is that another 4-wheeler just pulling in? Where are they coming from? Then, the caravan to the pond at my Mom’s timber rumbles away. Quiet settles over the house like a big, downy comforter. The quiet almost seems loud.
I begin to check the rooms for damage-control. Did the cats get locked into a closet or room? Are the lights off? Are the refrigerator and freezer doors closed securely or did a package of hot dogs get wedged in a corner and not allow the door to close all the way? With my socked-foot, I step on a melting ice cube that missed the cooler. Nice.
And so it goes. In and out. I love it all. The chaos and noise … and the calming quiet.
Well, okay…not the cold, wet sock.
But, without the noise, I might not appreciate the quiet.