Most days it seems like there's a surplus of sound at our house. There are slamming doors and laughter, loud burps and lots of thank yous, and those are just the acoustics of an ordinary Wednesday morning. Their mostly happy racket could rival a hundred revelers, but I know our boys don't have a monopoly on commotion.
Buh-doper book? Tollie hands me a story about heavy machinery and we sit down together to read. All those big trucks have their own sound effects, and I'm not nearly as qualified to make them as Daddy and Da-tuck, but I try. Buh-doper big! Buh-doper muddy muddy! I'm pretty sure he dreams about driving bulldozers.
Through the volume, underneath the noise and behind the boisterous, are susurrations of life. The shy request right after breakfast: Can we make some cookie bowder (batter), and the rustle of the chocolate chip bag. The soft whispers of brothers hiding in a closet "treehouse" and the predictable din of plastic hangers hitting the floor. The endangered sound of matchbox cars on windowsills, of loud music without explicit lyrics, of little boy heartbeats in tight hugs.