Home again, home again!

My adventures are over, for now. I have returned home to my beautiful family and reality has kicked in, as of 6pm last night.

I wanted to tell you all about the loooong flight home, about the picnic in Johannesburg surrounded by Egyptian geese (how ironic!), about the corrupt airline official at the airport, about the marvelous welcome home. But what stands out for me more than anything else right now is how NOISY it is to be home.

At first I thought it was just because they were all excited to see me. The babbling and sharing of news. The singing of the latest song. The "Mommy, this!" and "Mommy, that!" The non-stop commotion! I'm suddenly quite lethargic! And I have realised that it's not actually because they have more to tell me because I have been away. It is just how my kids are. They have always been this way, and I have only now realised why it is that I am tired ALL the time!

After 24 hours of being back home I have come to understand why it is I was feeling so completely finished just before I left on this trip. It is emotionally exhausting having to pay attention to little voices ALL day long! And not only pay attention, but respond appropriately, because if I don't, they accuse me of not listening to them. 

For some reason my kids feel it is necessary to fill any gap of silence with a question, a song, or a whine. I, on the other hand, would love to be able to fill a question, a song, or a whine with a gap of silence. Too much noise makes me restless. Overstimulated. Edgey.

Driving home from a little family reunion this afternoon, I thought I might put the radio on to avoid the endless barrage of questions coming from the backseat (am I a bad mother?) The Pussy Cat Dolls started pelting out their high energy hit Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me? Ok, so not the most peaceful music to drive to, but it did briefly interrupt the verbal diarrhoea emanating from the backseat.

I became aware of a little voice singing along to the music - word for word! I was horrified - my 5 year old was spewing forth dubious lyrics! I switched the radio off fast and gave her a quizzical glance over my shoulder.

"That's my favourite song, Mom" was the reply my raised eyebrow elicited.

Now that the radio was off and silence tried to infiltrate the vehicle once more, my children started up their chattering to ward it off. I gave up. What a choice to make: loss of peace and quiet versus the corruption of my children's minds with tarty music. I settled for the former. This time.