Imagine, if you will, the sounds of an 18th century mental institution — the screams, the maniacal laughter, door slamming and wall pounding. Coincidently, these were the same sounds that echoed through our house this morning, beginning around 3:30am when Morgan awoke. By the time Morgan had made enough noise to wake Susan up, the living room was a disaster. “She’s been up for a while,” Sue deduced. Around 5:30am, it was my shift. Morgan was hooping and hollaring so loudly that even I could no longer sleep — and that’s saying something. I entertained myself by surfing the web and playing a few computer games as Morgan did laps around the living room NASCAR-style. By 6:30 or so Mason was up and had joined in the terror as well.
The kids have a new (annoying) game they play that involves taking turns screaming at the top of their lungs and then laughing about it. Such shrill voices at high volumes are nearly impossible to take for any length of time. I assure you I could extract any information from the Al Qaeda operative of your choosing by simply putting them in the same room. The sound is as if Yoko Ono has moved into your brain. Unbearable at any time of day; particularly unenjoyable before 7am.