On a normal day, my boys will race down the hall, stomping their feet and beating their chests, shouting REEEEE-OOOORRR REEEEE-OOOORRR at the top of their lungs.

They put on their brakes with an EEEEEEEEEEEEKKKKK! They pretend to slam their bodies against a wall, bounce off, fall with two commando rolls, jump back onto both feet, then stalk like safari tiger hunters pushing away at pretend jungle leaves, shriek again, fall down again, topple and tumble, then bulldoze the carpet with their faces until they’ve run out of floor, then they creep up the wall, singing a bad rendition of Incy-Wincy, of course making tongue trails up to the window frame.

They jump and jiggle, fidget and shake, run here and there, bouncing and stomping. All. Day. Long.

They make SO MUCH NOISE - sound effects of emergency transportation vehicles. Animal noises. Machine noises. Race car noises. General shouting and yelling. And lots of sound effects of bodily functions repeated at different pitches with lots of laughter in between.

For fun they will bash their heads into sofas, klonk their arms on table legs, beat their elbows into glass doors, make eye ball prints on the windows, spit into holes, pick up whatever thing is mashed onto the floor and see how long it can stick to their faces.

I guess I’ve gotten used to this whole aspect of bringing up two boys. The energy and the noise - I love it and I hate it. Sometimes I cry, sometimes I laugh.

What I’m not looking forward to, is the gross teenaged-boy smells in the future. (Shudder)

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