Rambunctious house now too quiet
Posted by Leah Hemenway on Aug 27th, 2007
For years teenage boys would be coming in and out of our house. One summer Zach and his friends became addicted to a certain TV show that was on at 4 p.m. Every day they were here watching that show. Another infamous year Arna and his friends watched big-time wrestling regularly. I guess you could call it “watched.” I could hear them thumping around and screaming, trying moves and jumping on top of each other.
I’d yell down, “What are you all doing down there? Is anybody hurt?”
“We’re just watching wrestling. Could you bring us some water?”
I’d come home from the grocery and just walk in the door and yell, “Groceries. Somebody come and help me.”
“We’re coming.”
Zach, Arna, and sometimes their friends would trek to the car, bringing bags in. Granted, they were interested in the contents, especially chips or cookies. But I rarely had to bring in a load of groceries. Now I go to the grocery and dread getting home. In and out, I yell, “Groceries.” There’s no response.
It’s not just the groceries. There would always be a certain level of activity and even special events. For four years Zach’s soccer team came over during the season and inhaled platters of food in record times. They laughed and talked. Arna’s birthday parties and sleepovers were often wild and loud. One year we even rented one of those closed-in trampolines. We thought the entire house of trampoline would fall over when Arna and his friends got in there together.
Other times I’d hear Zach going up to his room with his friends. They’d thump heavily up the steps, talking about soccer, baseball, the latest video games. They’d come down to the kitchen to get something to eat. They’d talk some more about various teachers, upcoming games, new movies, video games, sports.
Then Arna and his friends would come in. They would plan their next activity: where they were riding bikes, or what movie they wanted to see. They’d discuss their favorite wrestlers, football, their teachers, and kids in their class. Arna and his friend Gardner would take breaks from their sled riding. They always told me the tales of their adventures while they waited for dry clothes. Then they’d be off again.
Without taking a step outdoors, life came in. Sometimes Arna and Zach fought, chasing each other all over the house. I‘d follow behind them telling them to stop. This wasn’t fun. Sometimes Arna and his friends practiced for their band and it got pretty loud. Luckily about when a headache set in, they’d quit. Occasionally, I’d come in Arna’s room and the guys would be playing unimaginably grotesque video games. Or they’d watch crazy horror movies. I’d shake my head and rush out.
And the bags of garbage were no fun. I could never believe that four or five guys could drink so many bottles of water and cans of pop. They could eat huge boxes of pizza, giant bags of fast food, and leave millions of candy wrappers everywhere. I’d tell Arna, “Don’t let them leave. Make them help you clean up.”
That was usually a failure. Often Arna and I cleaned up incredible messes. Somebody had spilled a pop which led to sticky areas all over the table and the floor. They had even tried to clean up with papers and napkins that added to the mess. Or somebody left their fast food bags and the dog strewed them all over the place. Arna would gripe and moan. I’d stand at the door and say, “You’re not leaving until it’s cleaned up.”
Arna’s friends would be around in the summer when company came. Sometimes they’d pitch in when we needed help. I remember once Arna and his friend Paul spent hours putting together a bike for our grandson Dylan. When I had lots of relatives here for a wedding, Zach, Arna, and their friends entertained the kids with soccer drills and races. Zach and Arna’s friends set up video games and played with grandchildren.
I even saw Zach and Arna’s friends when my sons were out of town. Their friends would still come over. Zach’s friend David went to KU, and Zach was at North Carolina. David would come over and borrow a notebook or a pen right before he went to his classes. He’d sit and talk to me about his reading or his latest rock climbing trip. Sometimes we’d watch soccer between his classes. When Arna was at camp, his friend Paul came over when we couldn’t figure out the video games our grandson Dylan had rented. Paul would play a few games and we’d always talk about his family vacations and his brothers and sisters.
Arna’s friends were part of our everyday lives. When we replaced furniture, Arna and Paul helped me move things around. Once they swore that a couch would fit up the basement steps. For six hours the couch was stuck. They eventually took a hammer and broke it apart. I remember checking on them and getting them water. We still talk about that day
Now our house seems so quiet. I listen for the heavy, teenage footsteps up and down stairs. I wait around for their loud laughs, the periodic thumps. Late at night I wake up. I think I hear Zach or Arna and their friends chasing each other outside. Then I think I hear that insistent, bouncing basketball.
Bob used to wake up to that noise at 2 or 3 in the morning, “Don’t they ever get tired?”
I can still hear their distinct voices. I knew all kinds of information about video games, teachers, sports, and school life. I remember when Arna’s teacher tried to swat a bee and broke a window. I can still hear Lucas imitating the principal, “Darn it, Doug. You broke a window on a Friday afternoon. What were you thinking?” Arna and Gardner would laugh and tell other stories from their elementary school days.
I can remember arguments over everything, teasing that went too far, and nobody getting along. I remember guys leaving, but always coming back the next day. I can hear them talking, laughing, planning things, re-playing scenes from movies, and imitating each other. And always noise: loud guys, loud games, loud talk., and loud music.
I keep wondering, “Where is everybody?” Our driveway no longer looks like a used car lot. It’s so empty. I’ve been getting way too much sleep. I seem to know nothing new. I have a couch to move and I’m tired of carrying in groceries. I have a desperate need to catch up on all the latest video games, movies, and just life. Where are you guys when I nee
at 10:49 a.m.
Leah,
You captured the feelings of many mothers when their children leave. I can't believe I said to my daughter when she announced her engagement, "Do you mean you are actually leaving me for some MAN?"
Your column expressed a very sensitive and universal experience!