I will begin this post by saying that my intent for this blog was not to re-create the "I've-got-kids-and-it's-such-a-funny-slash-rewarding-experience" bloggernaut that has become omnipresent on all of the "webs." In fact, for my second entry, I planned on committing myself to writing about some of the fascinating articles I have recently (attempted) to read concerning the anthropology of counter-insurgency. That's some heavy stuff, dude. No dice. I intentionally set out to avoid the parenting bloggosphere for two reasons; 1) as stated, it's well-worn territory (here we go down the *paved* rabbit hole!) and, 2) I can guarantee that there is a multitude of people in existence, especially on the internet, who are much more capable in providing quality content in this particular niche than I could ever hope to. That being said, I would like to bang on the keyboard for a a few moments in an effort to relay the immense frustration that builds after hours on end of what can only be called "The Perpetual Noise Machine." Can *dad* you *dad* imagine *daddy* the *DAD* immense difficulty *DADDY* one *DAAADDYY* has *HEY DAD* in trying *DADADADADAD* to *(whispering) HEY DADDY* focus *DaAAaAAD* amidst *HEY! DAD!* constant noise? *DAD, I WANT FRUIT SNACKS*

You probably can, because you probably have kids, or nephews/nieces, or little brothers/sisters, or you've been to a restaurant, or you once accidentally stumbled into a "Yoga for Babies" class while earnestly attempting to arrive on time for that "Body Pump" class you always wanted to check out. By the by, doesn't "Body Pump" sound like an Orwellian euphemism for sex ("People having s-e-x? Gross, you disgusting degenerate!Decent people "Body Pump")? Regardless of how much body pumping you do, and whether or not it led to your own babies, you've most likely been privy to the "Perpetual Noise Machine," at some point in your existence. My humble theory is that this, more than anything, has to be the greatest challenge in parenting. Non. Stop. Noise. The "neediness" of my two boys, while sometimes tiresome, does not come anywhere close to the immense fatigue I experience after only an hour of non-stop noises from their tiny little mouths. I expect their neediness, and as a father-while I want them to learn to be independent-I have enough presence of mind to appreciate that those two little monsters still need me for most things, and I LOVE it. I have finally fulfilled my lifelong dream to be a freakin' super-hero, albeit on a much smaller scale (you want milk and cookies? WATCH THIS! BOOM, milk and cookies). And yes, much of the noise is them expressing a "need" (read:want), but if that was it-and I could be wrong, but it feels right-I think I would not feel so drained. It's the noises that happen in between and after the noise made for "needs." The noises that now fill all the cracks where glorious silence used to swell unencumbered, in my wife and I's beautiful pre-kids universe. It may be blasphemous as a parent to suggest it, but among the din of needs and wants, sometimes even their happy noises do nothing more than add to the pile. That's right, I said it, sometimes hearing my two boys enjoying life can actually make it worse (gasp! TYRANT!).

Before you get the gang together to lynch me, understand that most of the time I'm just like the rest of the drooling masses; baby/toddler laughter produces a broad smile and increased, doe eyed drooling. However, on the days when I'm attempting to make my way through an essay about anthropological perspectives in global counterinsurgency-because I'm sooo smart-the constant noise can wear me out. Why, you ask, am I even attempting to read such important scholastic works while my kids are awake? Easy; when else would I do it Mr. I-have-six-hours-to-myself-every-night? It's an unwritten rule (it might be written) that kids take up all of your time. All of it. If I owned a store full of nothing but hour glasses, my two boys would be the worlds best hour-glass cat burglars in the history of thievery. And they would rob that store everyday. As I type this, I am feeding my oldest some oatmeal while he hisses in my ear and "tickles" my scalp. If I waited until both boys were asleep to do this, I would be too exhausted to write the word "anthropological." And let's not forget that I'm happily married, so I have to make at least some time for "Body Pumping." So, before you lose your marbles over the fact that I just said that baby laughter kills fairies, try to stick with it for the apex of my strange little arc.

I'm pretty sure sexperts call it "noise fatigue." At least, that's what Wikipedia calls it. Yeah, I said sexperts. I usually just refer to it as "please for the love of Gandhi be SHUSH!" Why do I feel like this, more than anything, is the most difficult part of parenting? Because you cannot control it. Not even a little bit, unless you are willing to tape some mouths shut (no, that is NOT an option, jerk-face). If my kids don't share toys, I can work with them on it. If they won't eat, I can fulfill my other life long dream of being a super-villain by sending them to bed early. I can handle living on very little sleep, even though it does not put me in a happy place (thank you Basic Training!). But the noise? Good luck hombre. I'm sure that there is some mother-hen (or rooster) out there who knows "the secret," but they can bite me cause I haven't found their blog yet (I haven't looked real hard) and they sure as hell are not hawking their wares door-to-door like the saint they could be. I want to reiterate that the fatigue usually occurs after a peculiarly long stretch of neediness, say an hour or so, but once you hit that point...Once the "please-be-quiet-for-ten-seconds-o-meter" is full, ALL NOISE becomes unbearable. So, where am I going with this, other than exposing myself to anyone willing to read this that I'm some kind of noise-Nazi? I guess, to come full circle and really eat my words concerning the whole "this isn't a parenting blog" line...It comes down to asking the world, ever so gently to just back off for ten seconds. When you see kids out and about with their parents and you strap on your judging boots cause they are handing lollipops to their noise factory of a kid/s like some deranged Willy Wonka, keep in mind that that parent is a human person just like you (how heart warming)! Seriously, you know that cup of coffee you enjoy in the wee hours while the sun comes up, with nothing but your thoughts filling space around you? Or maybe you're of the wine in the evening set. Perhaps both, you lucky butt-hole. Either way, the parent you just called "lazy" or made you feel the need to ask "why do some people even try?" wants nothing more than to hand you their hysterically laughing toddler (who has suddenly decided after two hours of whining that since they are being handed to a non-parent they are in the best mood of their lives), lock themselves in your closet and fill that puppy up with some calm. I have to eat my words about not re-creating the "my parenting blog is better and different than your parenting blog," but I'm ok with that because I have experienced, like so many other parents, "the stare." Trust me, we want that kid to be quiet just as much as you do, and probably more so, and if you must know, I do not believe in the old-adage that kids should be seen not heard. Except that yes, sometimes, after an hour of "Daddy, I need insert anything here that is NOT a need," I wish my kids would just be silent little angels with wings and suspenders and bow-ties and who only expend the effort to run air over their vocal cords to say "thank you," with adorable British accents. So even if you are kind enough to not commit to "the stare," you should still shut that internal trap of yours cause I can hear you judging me (I told you I was an INPF).

Final thought; I promise to get to that really intellectual piece about stuffy social scientists throwing around their mental might to "fix" the modern conundrum known as "global insurgency," but for now I'm going to end here, and go lock myself in the bathroom for the best part of any parents day.




It's a silent poop,by the way. Parents love pooping in silence, and sometimes, because of their responsibilities, they don't get to. Do NOT, however, let a parent of small children tell you that it is not their favorite thing because clearly they need to poop because obviously they are full of $@&#.