This Roar Ain't Dull

OK, so it's a relatively subdued morning here around Casa Chica, and I am thorougly digging the P & Q. The Hobbit is away at his summertime lair (a fact I know because I saw one of his underlings gain access to the Hut of Darkness, ostensibly to bring in the mail, but who are they kidding? It was to check on the collection of shrunken heads, poodle tails, and hearts of children whose parents have inexcusably parked directly in front of his home while visiting neighbors), the Banana has been oddly absent, and when he is around, even more oddly--completely clothed--so not sure what's up with him, and so here I sit in a clean, laundry-completed Casa, just waiting. The Chicas returned from Up North, and are still ensconced in their beds, sound asleep, or more-likely semi-comatose, based on their being gone in the sun and fun and fresh air for the past week. Yep, it's pretty freakin' quiet.

The phenomenon called "quiet" does not happen very often in this house with 3 little girls (yes, that's how many kids I have, and if you did not know that, you should be throat-punched, or at the very least directed to review previous posts--on your own time, for now you need to keep up with the rest of us). I gotta admit that I myself bought into those quaint pictorials featuring doe-eyed, freckle-faced girls skipping through the meadow in lavender plaid sundresses holding a bunch of dandelions, whose fuzzy white tops are delicately trailing behind them. Or the image of three sisters with neatly plaited hair, all cuddling together around a book, perhaps one of the Laura Ingalls series, the older ones taking turns to quietly read aloud to the younger one, introducing her to the joys of literature and the world of imagination. Yeah, all that is a bunch of crap. You want to know the real-life images associated with Casa Chica? Buckle up my Lovelies, here we go.

Casa Chica functions in a state of perpetual motion at a constant noise level of about 285 decibels. It could be the sheer number of children in my house, or the hardwood floors, or lack of dining room furniture, but I still contend it's because my kids are LOUD. Even when they whisper, they can be heard by the semi-deaf. And outside? Oh, My Ever-Living God, it makes your ears bleed. And as for gently guiding the youngest Chica? Yeah, not so much. Yesterday the oldest two shoved her in a bucket and hosed her down because they were playing "Filthy Dirty Baby Needs a Bath and the Bathtub is Broken." Granted it was a large bucket, and she seemed to enjoy it for 3 of the 18 minutes she was in said bucket, but still. Or there was this time...

This photo was taken a couple of weeks ago at the Livonia Spree fireworks. All around us, families were quietly picknicking with their wholesome snacks of fruit and organic free-range soy crisps, eagerly awaiting the start of the early-summer spectacular of light and sound (ok, it is Livonia, so that might be a bit of a stretch). And what happened on our blanket? Yeah, I had three kids, all hopped up on faux-cheese Pringles, red-dye #12, and good old fashioned high fructose corn syrup pounding the life out of each other in a Tweeenage Version of Summertime Smackdown. They were a tangle of limbs, hair was flying everywhere, and at one point the Smallest Chica lost her pants. Oh, man, we were soooo the topic of many hushed ride-home discussions between horrified parents in their mini-vans emblazoned with stick figure kiddos and pets.

And you know what? I couldn't care less. I'm not saying that I don't make a good-faith effort to tame them when they start to act utterly feral, but really, at the end of the day, if they're not causing direct physical harm to either themselves or others, does it really matter? I know for a fact that I am referred to as "That Divorced Woman with Those Wild Girls" in certain circles around these parts, but I also know that my girls are good kids. They can be helpful, and kind, and quiet--just not around each other or me. And that's OK. They know how to behave well when it matters. I am purposefully making an effort to not sweat the small stuff, and in turn give them a place where it's OK to act up, yes, maybe even wild, and be as loud as they want because there's going to be an awful lot of people that want to paint them into a corner, plug them into a little box, and expect them to act and do things a certain way. But they sure as hell won't ever hear that from me.

So yeah, I'm embracing the calm before the storm on this lovely morning, and wondering what the day will bring. There was some talk of a lemonade stand after yesterdays "Buy a Bubble" stand was a bust (sorry, couldn't resist) and ended in a screaming match, or maybe they will once again tie Baby Girl and some teddy bears to the fence and invite their buddies over to see their petting zoo. The possibilities, along with the volume, are limitless. And I wouldn't have it any other way.