Allison Gagnon- www.Choicelunch.com

There Is No Mute Button In Life  

There is no mute button in life – or even anything close. No way to turn the noise down, no way to press pause. When you’re the Mom, and your kids need you – they need you -and they aren’t afraid to tell you. Over, and over, and over. You’re in the grocery store, and your child asks why the “large woman” in front of you isn’t moving up in line. You’re in the movie theater, and your three-year old is asking question after question about the flick with no awareness whatsoever about the people around you. You’re out to dinner and yet another child innocently asks his Nonnie, in a voice far louder than any reasonable inside voice, “Why do you have worms on the tops of your hands,” (referencing her raised blood vessels). We all have stories like these. Kids are loud. They are unfiltered. And there is no mute button in life.

Allison Gagnon- Choicelunch

Last spring, I took my four kids to a Cantata at our Church, a musical prayer service held in preparation for Holy Week and Easter. It was especially poignant for our family to attend because Justin was a member of the small group singing. Justin has been singing for years, so I’ve survived countless concerts alone with all four kids, and we’ve had some highs and lows. This night, in particular….it was a low.

The concert started off sweetly enough, with my kids snuggling up against my arm, and me rubbing their heads, listening to peaceful music and prayer. I even found some moments of profound spiritual bliss while sitting there, which was unexpected. Inevitably though, about 10 minutes or so into the hour-long service, Brady and Quinn began subtlety arguing over three small Lego minifigures that Quinn was holding in his hands. This went back and forth for a few minutes, with me trying to quietly tell them to cease and desist. Eventually, with the Lego guys scattered under the pew in front of us, I gave Brady a death grip on his hand (so reverent), and Quinn began to cry. I crawled halfway under the pew, gathered up the minifigures, and not-so-gracefully scooted back into my seat. Brady was whimpering, and I quietly reminded him to leave Quinn alone and keep his hands to himself. 

Justin, mid-song, shot Brady a few death looks from the Altar. So reverent.

Brady continued pouting and crying. He eventually put his head against the side of my arm and, within a few minutes, was sound asleep. Mind you, this was at 4:45 in the afternoon. This all seemed well and good for a short time. I mean, I was dealing with one less child. Within about five minutes, though, he began to snore. And, I mean snore loudly – so loudly that it was perfectly audible above the soft serenity of Church music. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and kept trying to slightly jar him to interrupt the snoring. 

At this point, Quinn – who had been seated – stood up and stepped onto the kneeler, which had been lowered at some point. He overstepped the kneeler ever so slightly, and fell hard, bashing the side of his cheek on the missalette holder in front of us. He then proceeded to break out in a blood-curdling cry. I gathered him in my arms, slowly pushing the sleeping Brady off my shoulder and resting his head on the pew (where he continued to snore). After about 10 minutes of me comforting him and desperately wondering which would cease first, the music or his crying, he whimpered and eventually fell asleep in my arms. The service ended shortly thereafter, with two of my four children asleep in the pew – one wounded – and Grace and Hayden sitting like little angels. 

Justin, who had witnessed the whole debacle from the Altar, gave me the biggest hug. He knew it had been a war.

Like I said before, kids are loud and unfiltered. In a world where most of us are accustomed to tailoring our words, actions, and volume so easily and effortlessly when the situation demands it, kids often miss the memo. These times are so frustrating. I find myself toggling between two realities in these moments – either wanting to run away or becoming so angry that I am rendered debilitated. And maybe that isn’t the worst thing. No matter what I do, I know that my children will continue to have moments of loudness, and that they will continue to express their brutal truth.  And maybe I have a little bit of something to learn from this emotional rawness.  Yes, there are times where we all need to be quiet.  Of course.  And, yes, there are times when it’s better and more appropriate to keep our mouths shut instead of saying how we really feel. But maybe – just maybe – speaking our truth and crying out loud a little more often might be therapeutic. After all, there is no mute button in life.

Allison Gagnon- www.Choicelunch.com

 

Hello There!

My name is Allison! Nurturer Of 4 Remarkable Littles / Married To My Own Modern Day Prince Charming / California Born And Raised / Adventure Seeker / Nature Enthusiast / Memory Maker / Food / Wine / Fashion / Sleep

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