Louder and Messier

At the wedding we attended recently, Tolliver hollered "hi" to each member of the bridal party as she processed toward the front of the church.  All nine of them.  It was friendly, but not especially quiet.

Last week RoRo took the boys out for dinner.  She recounted that, in between bites of chicken and fish, Tuck and Tollie, still excited about the trip they'd taken to the zoo that morning, practiced velociraptor noises that may have disturbed fellow diners.

While they were gone, I scrubbed the patio furniture in an effort to make it feel more like a place for family meals and less like a place where small critters are forced to congregate.  The boys arrived home shortly thereafter and immediately began digging for worms, which they spread out all over the freshly soaped surfaces.

Yesterday the boys assembled a variety of "musical instruments" at the foot of the steps (because the gate there is, clearly, a harp).  They drummed and cymbaled and strummed and plucked and they took turns conducting the cacophony.

I will admit that we're a loud mess a lot of the time, but the boys will only be these tender ages for one summer of their lives. I don't mind dancing around the orchestra detritus on my way upstairs or stepping over the animal habitat at the back door. I can laugh at an anthem of vibrant hellos and I can tune out some animal reenactments. I hear love the loudest in their messiest messes and I am pretty sure my patience may prove worthwhile.