We may have all been raised in a barn ...

Mealtime at our house is quite the comedy routine. By the time I have called them to dinner and they have all whined and complained about having to leave the wondrous activity that has just captured their attention and then have all raced to the bathroom to wash their hands and fight about who was there first and more pouting about who has to go last - about 10 minutes have passed. Which is just about the time it takes for their vegetables on their plates to get ice cold (which is usually how they prefer them, if they eat them at all).

Then we say grace which can take another 10 minutes what with the constant interruption of other people's prayers and then having to go around two and three times to get in all the prayers everyone forgot to mention (usually just a duplicate of what their brother or sister just said).

Then FINALLY we eat. I say we, but I really mean just my husband and I. And that is not because my kids are incredibly picky eaters (which they sometimes are) or they are incredibly stubborn when it cames to eating (which they sometimes are). Mostly they are not eating because they are too busy talking. And when I say talking, I mean TALKING. 

But it's not just talking. It's talking while everyone else is talking so it is difficult to make out what anyone is actually saying. 

You know where I am going here ...

My kids are a chatty bunch.

(And can I just say I LOVE Brick from Anchorman. It's like he's a bit of all three of my kids rolled into one)

And while it is comical to me, it is a bit unnerving to my husband.

See I grew up in a "loud" house. Everyone talking all the time. Mealtime especially. Growing up, a friend of mine (who is an only child) used to be amazed at the amount of chatter that went on around our table at dinner. 

To me though, it was never a big deal. That was the norm. 

My family is not Italian or Greek or from New Jersey or one of those "loud family" stereotypes. We are a just a typical Midwestern family who just happens to be very loud. 

So when the decibel rises around the table, I just shrug like it's no big deal.

My poor husband has a harder time. Just the other day at lunch he declared that his ears were ringing from the sheer volume the kids were producing. It was all pretty mild talk too - no fighting or demanding. Just talking about my son's day at preschool. 

See my husband's family is not loud. They are normal. 

It seems, however, the kids have inherited the "loud" gene from my family. Quiet family meals have gone the way of the Dodo bird. Something that once existed, but never will again.

I don't really mind it. The volume that is. I could do without the constant interrupting, talking over, chewing with their mouths full, and potty talk. (OK, sometimes the potty talk is funny. But I will never tell them that.)

As for my poor husband, well I think he just may to come over to the "loud" side. It's an eat or be eaten world out there - and around our dining table. 

Or in our case - talk loud or be drowned out.

(Oh, I just was accepted into the Top Mommy Blog site! Blogs are ranked by votes, so if you like what your reading click on the Top Mommy Blog logo at the top of the page and vote for me. All you have to do is click - that's it! Thank you in advance!)