My husband is the most amazing man and I love him dearly, but he never stops talking. In fact if talking was a national sport, he would be the Welsh champion. If there is a pause, he has to fill it. Even if that means repeating a story that has already been told. Watching television with him is a nightmare as he does a running commentary and always makes comments about what he thinks is going to happen to the point where I am telling him through gritted teeth that maybe he should try watching it.
Don’t get me wrong, I can talk with the best of them. I enjoy a good natter with him and with friends and there are times, when I feel myself talking so much and so quickly that the other person probably can’t keep up. But I also like a bit of quiet time. A bit of time to gather my thoughts. A few minutes where there isn’t an argument going on between my children, where there is no screaming or crying, where the ball isn’t thudding against my front door, where there are no appliances whirring and beeping. A few minutes where somebody somewhere in the house isn’t shouting ‘mummy!’
My three youngest children all take after their father which is both lovely and wearing in equal measures. Like him, they love to talk. I do like that though as when you ask them what they did at school, the two boys will actually tell you and often at great length and as they are in the same class usually at the same time too. A is two and can talk really well, but she is at that repetitive stage where she will ask you the same question and say the same thing at least twenty times even if you have answered her and if you suggest stopping or being quiet, she carries on; only louder. Thankfully, we haven’t yet reached the ‘Why?’ stage, but I can feel it coming and I think it will be painful.
Some mornings, when I have battled them all out of bed, argued about what they are going to eat for breakfast, dragged them into their clothes and uniform, I have been known to just go and lock myself in the bathroom for a few short minutes. It’s desperate isn’t it, the lengths that you have to go to sometimes, even for two minutes of peace and freedom from the noise.
In two weeks, the whole tribe are departing to South Wales for a week, without me. It is an annual event as I mark A level French orals; this involves listening to between one hundred and fifty and two hundred fifteen minute recordings. Not exactly quiet, but it does involve a lot of concentration and so my husband takes them off for a week to allow me the time to do it.
Last year was the first time that they went for the whole week and I was really looking forward to it. A whole week all to myself. Yes I had to work, but the thought of being able to do what I wanted, eat what I wanted and not have to put up with bickering and shouting and footballs banging filled me with great joy. Until they went. Then the house seemed to quiet. The first few hours that I had envisaged as being blissful, were spent by me moping around and sitting on the children’s beds thinking about how much I was going to miss them all. Typical isn’t it?
Oh dear, I did smile as i read the first paragraph of your post! it must be hard living with 4 chatter boxes, do they out chat each other? No wonder the house seems so quiet when they are gone.,
You will have to get hubby to take photos that week for the 366!project, else yours will be a little dull lol 🙂
Xx