The rain is pouring around us. The fog that envelopes us makes driving difficult. We are already late.
As we pull into the driveway Little Man and Little Miss begin fighting. Neither wants to carry the books required for piano lessons and their teacher is cheerfully waving as they tumble out of the van. Curly Q is attempting an interpretative dance at the edge of the van door, informing us of natures call.
I turn in my chair to retrieve the books that neither child grabbed as they rushed out. As I pick up the books I notice naked piggies, wiggling before my eyes. Trash, sweaters, nature study treasures, and books litter the floor. Her rain boots and socks mixed into the mess.
The piano books get passed to the nearest child with a quick “quit fighting” issued to both. Curly Q is realized as she now slowly walks, examining every crack in the sidewalk as she moves towards the house. The urgency of her dance now forgotten.
In the quiet that follows I try my best to tidy up what I can reach, turn on the radio, give itty bitty her socks and a book before I check Facebook. It is blissfully quite for about two minutes.
Curly Q returns to the van, running. We buckle up and start driving towards the grocery store. The rain is still pouring down. The fog is still heavy. As I pull out onto the main road little bitty starts whining for another book. I nicely respond, “no, it’s raining and I’m driving. You can have a book when we get to the grocery store.”
She does not accept that response. The whining turns into screaming. The screaming turns into howling. She continues this for the full five minutes before we pull in to the parking lot.
I am not amused. I am more than slightly annoyed. It’s still only 9 am. I turn up the volume on the music in an attempt to drown out the banshee shrieks assaulting me from behind.
“Amazing grace how sweet you sound. It’s a beautiful sound. It’s a beautiful, beautiful sound. Beautiful, beautiful sound.”
It is not a beautiful sound. I do not enjoy this sound right now. But I did, at least once.
When a baby is born it is the sound of screaming that we welcome so lovingly. It is a sound mothers across the world wait nine months to hear. The sound of Life.
Not all get to hear it.
Some women lose their precious babes before they ever hear that sound. Some women ache for it. Desperately wanting to be blessed with a child, but unable to for whatever reason.
Some miss it dearly.
Some know the horror of loosing a child, a pain I couldn’t imagine. Some women ache for it. Wishing, longing and desperately needing to hear that cry just one more time.
One day I will miss this sound.
They will grow up. Every child grows up. Eventually they will move away. I will see them as regularly as their schedules allow. My youngest is only two and I already miss the sound of a Newborns cry. It won’t be long before I miss this stage as well.
If I’m lucky I’ll get to hear these sounds from their children, I’m told its even better then.
The sounds of tears, whining, fighting and screaming are beautiful sounds that I am blessed to hear daily. I don’t always see them as blessings. I’ve been told often to “cherish every moment” but it’s hard to cherish the child in meltdown mode. It’s hard to enjoy the sass that flows so regularly from Little Miss’ mouth. It’s hard to remember that being in the middle of the drudgery of everyday IS a blessing.
I cannot take them for granted. They may annoy me and anger me at times but they are still blessings nonetheless. Songs like the one on the radio, positive utterances by strangers about how they miss these years, news casts of tragic events all remind me. I need to be more purposeful in my perspective. I need to remind myself.
I need to know…
It is a beautiful sound.