Being at least two feet smaller than most people around you must leave you with a sense of being unseen, and therefore unheard. That’s my only assumption for Burke’s volume level when he speaks. Even his whisper is loud. The other day I had Burke and Blythe at Target when Burke yelled (at a volume as if he were 10 feet away, only he was about 2), “Mom, I HAVE to POOOOOP!” He repeated, “I REALLLY have to POOOOP!” all the way to the restroom, in spite of my reassurance that we were, in fact, heading to the toilet. I think everyone in Target knew Burke had to poop. So, we rushed in to the first clean stall, so he can go about — well, you know. Only, then he proclaims (in his booming voice) as he points to the stall next to us, “PEEE-UUUU, it STINKS in here. Smells like this guy (a girl actually) is POOPING.” Poor lady.
The picture above has nothing to do with his noise level, except that he’s silently sleeping with a BOOK ON HIS FACE. Funny.
But, really, these kids love noise. What? I can’t hear you. Turn it up.
They especially can’t get enough punk music, thanks to Mark. Right now, they sing “don’t lose touch” by against me incessantly (the song is below for affect), and anytime we turn it on, it’s all out rockfest in the living room. The boys start strumming their light sabers like their guitars, and Blythe dances around singing “ohhhh-ohhhh.” There’s something strangely hilarious about preschoolers singing “I’m losin’ touch.” We need a video camera.
[youtube=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X9iTNNi8Gh0&hl=en]
