Silence is golden. And even more rare.

I have a secret.

I love silence.

I was quite comfortable living alone and adored the sense of accomplishment I got when walking into my apartment (that I found and rented by myself), carrying groceries that I bought, with my money, that I earned at my job.

This glorious life was not without its flaws, as my life-on-my-own started in my mid-20's at the end of a 7-year-long-relationship that spanned 2 cross-country moves and was headed down the aisle. (Should anyone feel the need, you can tell that fella I hold no ill will, and am grateful for the strength it took for him to end something that wasn't serving either of us. I wish him everything we wouldn't have found together.) It included a toxic work environment followed by 5 months of unemployment and hours upon hours of soul searching and worry and fear and scrimping and saving. But also growing and learning.

Today, it is not the pain or soul stretching or sorrow or mourning that I miss. It is the silence. When I expressed to One Philly Daddy recently that I loved and missed silence, he merely shook his head in a bemused way and said something akin to "then you're in the wrong house, baby."

I love my family. I love the true honor it is to be a mother. I've loved and wanted a chance to do right by my kids like a yearning for water or air.

And yet. Sometimes I wish they'd shut the freak up. They're all high energy (kids - globally, and mine specifically) and the movement and noise and chatter can be... too much.

I would love a count of the number of times I hear the words "Mommy, can you..." in a given hour. Forget day. I'd break the counter.

This is what jumbles my nerves and hunches my shoulders and clenches my jaw and, well, you get the idea.

There is a severe lack of silence. Of the ability to hear one's self think. To finish a sentence. To get lost in a book. To allow my own voice to reach my own ears.

My children tend to narrate their lives. Every button they push in Minecraft, every minutiae of their thoughts, every. god. damn. thing. When they're not talking, they're making random chattery, clicky, humming, noises.

Don't get me wrong. I adore that they adore me and want me to see, hear, watch and do every-freakin-thing with them. The other day One Philly Daughter had a cold. And when I announced I needed to take a shower (you know, to go to work. In public.) she asked if she could come with me.  In the shower. One Philly Son has turned even video games into full contact sports involving jumping, yelling, ducking, bouncing.

Trust me, I know, remind myself often that one day, one proverbial day, I will miss this sound. I will wish for the sound of their nonsense and the noise of their toys bouncing off my furniture, their requests for (yet another) snack, their pestering of each other and the like.

And so. I do my damnedest to listen to their yammerings. I pay attention to the things that are important to them. Because they are important to me.

The silence I seek will fuel me. My blog, my work, my life, my eternal internal musings. (Its just who I am. I like to get lost in my own thoughts.) But never at the cost of my loves. For this is a time of learning and growing and soul searching too. And the frightening parts of the glorious quiet years are not lost on me. I was alone, terribly alone. And I am certain one day, I will look back on these years with great longing and nostalgia.

Despite all these awarenesses and acceptances, once in awhile, I say. With all kindness, adoration, respect and as little exasperation as I can muster :

"Will you please just stop talking for just a minute?"

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