Recently, the Queen and I were sitting peacefully at the dinner table enjoying the summer atmosphere. It was just after dinner, little Judah had dropped off for his pre-nighttime nap (a luxury I think most of us wish we had-- an hour nap right before an 11-hour sleep... I've encouraged him to consider a 13-hr nighttime sleep, but he insists that the 7pm hour is his to destroy our sanity) and silence reigned in the house. It was so peaceful as to almost be romantic. There is one small thing I should mention. As most of you all know, we have TWO young knights-in-training, not just one.
We have been married long enough that approximately 30 seconds into this bliss, we both raised a figurative eyebrow at each other and wordlessly decided that I would go investigate this strange condition of noiselessness. I can't speak for other parents, but at our house, the optimum level of noise is a low buzz. Not loud enough to annoy, yet loud enough to 1) let you know they are alive, and 2) loud enough to locate them and confirm that they are not immediately preparing your imminent doom or the destruction of the castle around you. Silence is not as golden as the Tremeloes tried to claim.
I didn't have to go that far. Sitting peacefully in the hallway was 2 1/2 year old Elijah, beaming at me. "Daddy, I made a heart!" he said gleefully. "Proud of you!" (this means that he is very happy with himself, the self-affirming little madman that he is)
"Where's the heart?" I said, frantically scanning the walls.
"Here!" With a big smile he pointed to his arm, which upon inspection revealed something that looked like a heart. "And rectangle, and square." Behold, those shapes were revealed as well. "And other arm!" By the time he had finished showing me, we had found more tattoos than I can count on both hands. They should wash off in a week or so.
And that's why if you ever visit us and we look twitchy, we might just be politely fearing the silence .
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