“AAAAAAAAHH! THAT HURT ME! YOU ARE SO MEAN!” wails my daughter to her sister with the intensity of an air siren.
During my first pregnancy, I rubbed my belly in a gentle clockwise ritual dreaming of all the joyful sounds that would come from the backyard – running, giggling and playing tag. How magical their delightful cries would sound as they twirled with ribbons on sticks in the crisp spring air with baby fine curls bopping in the breeze.
Their ear-piercing cries register at decibel levels that could get them voice work at Universal Pictures. Have you ever heard the ebb and flow of squeals on the run; when wails raise and drop slightly with each step then break off for a breath? Don’t hold your breath, round two is as intense as the first.
These sounds could permeate a passing ambulance and cause the driver to U-turn directly into our driveway to beat the impending dispatch call.
Are they engaging in an ancient form of torture? What do the neighbors think? What on earth could have happened to cause this unholy sound to come from such a small human?
“SHE TOOK MY SHOVEL,” a guttural sadistic growl explodes from her sister.
Really? Well. Maybe this is your run-of-the-mill primal reaction to natural sunlight and dirt. After complying with, “use your inside voice,” all winter there may be a little pent up rage, but I think the pollen is doing more than making their eyes itch.
I try in vain to handle it, but end up walking back in the house to rub the rim of my margarita glass in a gentle clockwise ritual as I wait for a concerned neighbor to drop by for a wellness check. I think I should have a drink prepared for them too, just in case.