Sisters of Baseball

Listening to my children is one of the most pleasant and most wretched things at the same time. How can I possibly say such a thing, huh? I know! But read on.

It is only wretched in that it never stops. Never. Never. There is always some little voice and that little voice drones on and on until there are times I want to shove my head under a pillow or there are times when I just turn the radio up as loud as it will go. My own brain is constantly in conversation about issues of faith, family, friends, politics, phiolosphy and so to also hear the chatter of children non-stop is somewhat unnerving. I can only describe it as two stereos both playing at the same time, same volume, but completely different and constantly shifting topics. It can be maddening.

As the two older girls grow together, it has become common for them to sit up and talk for hours into the night. After eleven or midnight even. I prefer to be awake until my home is asleep. And so I can lose patience. But in regards to this particular chattering I rarely do lose patience. I love, LOVE, the sound of my daughters talking to one another. They are making memories and a loving relationship that I pray carries on with them through their lives. So what if they’re a bit tired and cranky the next day? They had those times discussing the qualitative and quantitative values of the color and the fruit orange. Dreams of a big tree house with bunk beds and a zip line. Riding horses together in the woods. Building a sandcastle taller than them. Why would I stop them from those precious words shared for something as menial as sleep? They can sleep when they’re dead. They can only giggle while together in this moment.

My sister I’ve only known a few years. I know I love her now because of how we came together, but I do dream about what it would have been like with a flashlight, orange juice, and no school bus in the morning… We would have laughed and laughed and laughed. I laugh with her like I laugh with no one else. And it warms my heart that my children seem to be growing the same love for one another.

Another thing I am noticing about my children are their topics of conversation. Reade (age 11) is telling the same jokes I told when I was his age. And they are just as stupid. He’s repeating the same “pick-up” lines my brother David used. I just laugh, laugh, laugh inside and out. (And then let him know about appropriate behavior with girls – ie, interviewing for marriage, etc).

My girls are saying the same things I once said. Almost verbatim. Like “Is it possible to have a chocolate covered pizza?” and “If I can braid my hair by myself, I can braid anything. And that could be dangerous.” And my favorite so far and I just know I spoke these very same words, “I don’t want to go to sleep. I have too much left to say.”

These are the things that keep the competing-stereo demons away. Most days, anyways. I do get short. Like now as I type this entry and have been asked at least a dozen times by all five when are we leaving for errands. But that’s OK. Because I am human.

Advertisements