No one ever promised you a quiet home

As a young man growing up, She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Made-Mad and I raised four wonderful children. Well ... for the most part, they were wonderful. There were times I thought they were put on this planet to make sure I remembered how to get to the principal’s office at the school.

Our kids always kept the house hopping with energy and new friends. Sometimes as I made my way in from a long day of covering sports in whatever town we lived, I’d find children I didn’t know sleeping all over the place, and eating everything that wasn’t plastic or nailed down. And, when they were eating or sleeping, they were talking louder than the 20 other kids yelling about whatever video game Bubba (our oldest son) or Bobby (our youngest son) were playing.

Let me back up a moment, SWMNBMM “raised” the children. You see, when we were younger I was often at work and, therefore, I only caught the tail end of whatever ruckus was going on at the house. Generally, I left before it started, visited the principal’s office at lunch and returned when it was all over.

To my wife’s credit, she loved every minute of it. I enjoyed it, too, but I only got it in short doses.

As fate would have it, the kids grew up and moved out. That left SWMNBMM and I at home admiring the silence.

Did you know that you can actually hear a television when there are no children in the house? I didn’t. I thought for many years, TVs were just to look at.

The peace was short-lived because our children, as most children do, started bringing home children of their own. At first, there was only one - a beautiful and shy little girl named Baby Mal (I refer to all of my grandchildren by nicknames. Mallorie, if you want to know, is her real name).

Baby Mal used to be soooo quiet. Unfortunately, our oldest daughter, Whitney, brought home another child, a son. Peace and quiet moved out again.

Together, Baby Mal and Dom are no longer quiet. They make plenty of noise as they argue about everything, including who can breathe the most air.

A while later, our youngest daughter, Kayme, brought home her first daughter, Jewels.

Jewels (her real name is Ryhlie, for those who would like to know) was so cute and cuddly. Rarely a peep escaped from her angelic face as she cuddled up to Apa and enjoyed a nap on the couch. Unfortunately, that lasted about eight months - or until she learned to walk and talk. At that point, Baby Mal and Dom had a louder third partner in their noise-production business.

Still later, Kayme gave us another granddaughter, Gemmers (Kinzlee) and a grandson, Cheezer (Chaz) ...

I remember my mother, God rest her soul, telling me that boys were so much easier to raise. That might be true, but that doesn’t mean they are quiet, or that you won’t spend hours listening to dinosaurs growl, fight and bite holes in the wall.

Whether it is because he has to scream to be heard over Jewels and Gemmers, or because he was born with the lungs of Superman, Cheezer is, by far, the loudest. I’m pretty sure he has a career as a lighthouse beacon in his future.

Bubba gave us a grandson, Rhysen, and Bobby brought in Jiraiya (or you can call him Bucky like me). Rhysen is loud and Bucky (who is just a baby) is already gaining on the crowd in volume.

Alas, it hasn’t been quiet in Casa de Wells since.

I’m pretty sure the Sinister Seven could tear up a steel ball with a rubber hammer ... and raise the dead with all the screaming they do while doing it.

All in all, the quiet home we had has returned to the wild and noisy place of our youth.

I might have to find a game to go to soon.

Tommy Wells is the editor of the McGregor Mirror. Everything in this column is true, except for the parts that are made up, exaggerated or just plain lies.