Mommy. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mommy. Mommy. Mom.

There is always some sort of constant buzzing in a house with two kids.  The buzz might sound like happy playing, screaming, laughing, yelling, "singing," throwing, breaking, slamming, asking, crying, burping, whining, cooing.  As mentioned in a post quite some time ago, which featured baby Oliver getting into toilet paper, quiet only precedes disaster.  Quiet happens when some kid is being naughty.  The last time it was too quiet, I asked Oliver what he was doing.  "Cleaning table," he said, and I saw him gently doing something to an end coffee table.  Oh, cleaning, that's fine, I thought.  I continued my conversation with my friend who was visiting, until she walked around the corner.

"Oh, let's put this over heeeeere," my friend said to Oliver.  "Because that is not a good decision."

"Hand sanitizer," she whispered under her breath to me.

I walked over to the table and Oliver had pumped, and pumped, and pumped hand sanitizer all over its surface, smearing it in finger-paint fashion.

But back to the noise.  Even though noise is a good sign, it can sometimes be, well, maddening.   It can raise my blood pressure until my face turns scarlet.  I distinctly remember a day when Charlie was crying, Oliver was playing loudly, Michael was vacuuming, and the radio was blasting.  That was not a good day.  I calmly asked-told Michael to please stop vacuuming before I went off the deep end.  Then I turned off the radio, and stomped off still cupping my hands over my ears.  I might have walked into the garage to scream.

And then there's the persistent noise.  "Mommy, look.  Mommy, watch.  Mommy, watch this.  Mommy, watch this.  Look at this.  Mommy.  Look at this, Mommy."  AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!  It kind of feels a little something like this:

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q_A61O1u5jE

The intensity of being needed is absolutely overwhelming.  There are times I can't take a shower without being needed.  I've begun to pray for patience, specifically with my kids.  To not be as irritated, to be tolerant of the constancy.  To join in with the noise.  To serve my family with joy, not out of requirement.

And then yesterday, Charlie reached for me, really reached for me, for the very first time.  As he stretched his arms out, my heart did a little flip in my chest.  Sometimes being needed means watching your kid run down the hall as fast as he can 64 times because he won't do it unless you're watching; or getting him juice- no, milk- wait, no, chocolate milk- no, chocolate milk in a BLUE cup. But sometimes, it's putting your arms around them because they want nothing else but you.  And that's a pretty cool thing.