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What a Mom Thinks When the Kids Just Won’t Be Quiet
by Jamie Collins
Oct. 22, 2023
My house is a symphony of chatter. If these walls could speak, they’d never find a moment of silence—because my kids certainly don’t.
As a writer, I’m accustomed to sifting through a sea of words daily. Yet, you’d think my profession also entails a crash course in deciphering kids who talk over one another, because in my home, it’s a cacophony of voices. There’s always someone speaking, another one interrupting, and a third one trying to be heard amid the chaos. My brain hits overload every ten minutes.
Despite my profession, I often keep my verbal contributions to a minimum, probably due to my journalistic background. I’ve learned to be succinct—say what needs saying and move on. Unfortunately, my children did not inherit this trait. They’ve taken a page from their dad’s book, who loves to ramble on, adding unnecessary details when all I need is the gist. When my husband or one of the boys starts to talk, I could easily mow the lawn, wash the car, and still return without missing any vital information, as the middle of their conversations is often just a long-winded stream of consciousness. A simple intro and conclusion is all I need to grasp the point.
Now, I genuinely appreciate that my kids enjoy sharing their thoughts with me, especially since my oldest is about to hit double digits, and I know those lengthy talks won’t last forever. I strive to maintain a composed expression, focusing my eyes on them and giving the right responses, even when my mind is wandering (a skill I picked up during interviews with people who would go off on tangents about their distant relatives instead of sticking to the topic at hand).
When my 9-year-old launches into an elaborate tale about trading Pokémon cards, I can feel my attention slipping away. He goes on about the specifics—energy power, fighting skills, and the number of cards he owns—while I mentally check out. The moment he mentions “Lego Minecraft” or “birthday,” he could easily occupy the entire afternoon with his chatter. He trails behind me as I juggle chores, talking non-stop until his brothers arrive, creating a whirlwind of voices around the dinner table, where conversation becomes futile until they’re busy devouring their meals.
Then there’s the 6-year-old, who can fill an hour recounting his day at school, detailing every event from class to recess without letting anyone else speak. I might get a word in edgewise if I dangle the promise of dessert. And let’s not forget the 5-year-old, the daredevil, who shares his latest risky stunts—like hanging upside down from monkey bars—which I’d prefer not hearing about.
They’ve become pros at transitioning from one topic to another so seamlessly that I don’t even bat an eye when I get lost in the conversation.
Because one child can use a thousand words for a simple answer, I’ve developed a little coping strategy. I know it’s not ideal, but it keeps me sane while I navigate their verbal explosions. When one of them starts to talk, I often find myself daydreaming. (I don’t feel guilty about it; I can condense their lengthy monologues into a few sentences without missing much.)
My daydreams often revolve around these themes:
What if I had a clean house?
Could I budget for a cleaning service? But wait, I’d need to clean up first! Look at that sink—absolutely revolting. What kind of wild animals live here? And those bathrooms? No cleaner would dare tackle this mess! I wonder if any friends have a good recommendation for a cleaning service—Oh, it sounds like he’s wrapping up. Time to tune back in.
I can’t wait for the weekend.
Mom’s taking the kids, and I’ll finally get to sleep without six bodies around me. All this chatter is exhausting. Will I get a moment to lie on my bed and read? Probably not. They’ll come back with dirt on their shoes, and I need to remember the detox time. Ugh. Maybe I’ll just enjoy my no-kids weekend.
I wish I could just go to bed.
I’m worn out. The words are draining. I hit my word limit an hour after they came home from school. How much longer until bedtime? Five hours? The bed is calling my name.
At this point, my eyelids are heavy, and I need to pinch myself awake. The boys usually don’t even notice when I’m fighting back tears during their epic tales of jumping rope in gym class.
Maybe we should learn sign language.
That could keep my attention better, and they’d use fewer words since it actually requires effort. Brilliant idea! “You know, I think we should learn sign language,” I say, interrupting the 5-year-old mid-story. Well, it’s not foolproof, but I turn it into a lesson. “Remember when you interrupted Daddy earlier? That’s how it feels.” Works like a charm.
In the whirlwind of parenting, it’s easy to get lost in the noise. But through the chaos, there’s a joy in these moments that make the long days worth it.
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Summary
In the delightful chaos of motherhood, a mom navigates her kids’ endless chatter with humor and daydreams about cleanliness, weekends, and the possibility of learning sign language to manage the noise. Despite the verbal whirlwind, she cherishes these moments, knowing they won’t last forever.