My house is loud. I mean like a-747-at-takeoff loud. I have three boys and a dog who learned to bark in a helicopter. Chaos wears ear plugs here. Tornadoes say they sound like our house.
Silence is rare.
And when it is silent, it drives me nuts. Lord help me when everyone is out of town. Or at least give me a Xanax. I have to turn on every TV just to stay sane. I catch myself yelling at myself.
On any given day, the X-Box will be turned up too loud. You’ll hear my youngest telling someone about space or yelling at his brother. My middle son has taken to Joe Walsh’s guitar playing, so Rocky Mountain Way is added to the cacophony, too. You might hear a baritone being practiced. Or a guitar. A fight will occasionally break out (I have boys after all) And you know Pip will be barking at a squirrel, another dog or sometimes just air.
The loud noise in my house is the ribbon that wraps my life. And that ribbon is golden.
I used to think my purpose was to use my talent. Now, I know that it is to use my talent to keep that sound going. Because without my family, I am nothing.
In a few years, the boys will be gone on to raise families and the house will fall silent. Amy and I will sit in our easy chairs and yell at each other. Or at least have Pip bark her furry butt off.
Because in the Ramsey house, loudness comes from the heart.