When George and I found out we were expecting our first child, we decided to let the gender be a surprise at the delivery. To be honest, for nearly the entire 9 months we waited, I was pretty sure it would be a boy. Why? Because God would know better than to give me a daughter.

I had been destined since childhood to have sons. The aunt I resembled most in my very large family? She had four sons. All of my favorite cousins? Boys. Growing up? Total tomboy. Most of my best friends in high school and college? Guys. Most of my best girlfriends? Girls who acted like guys. I was a “guy’s girl,” what on earth did I know about raising girls?

Well, take one look at our family photo and you can see that fortune telling is not my gift. Our daughter Emily was born more than 13 years ago and after some initial tears of terror, convinced I would get it all wrong, I am pleased to say that, so far, I think we are doing okay. She has developed into an amazing young lady who is far cooler than her mother ever was at her age.

Thankfully though, God found it fitting for me to have a couple of boys to round out the picture, so now I am blessed with what I had envisioned and dreamed of for so long. I have that distinct boy energy, that boy enthusiasm, that boy zest for life around me all the time. All. The. Time. I now know I was meant to have boys in my life. I also now know God was meant to invent noise-canceling headphones.

Our boys are very different in temperament. Liam is gentle, subdued, and calm. Jackson is chatty, bouncy, and funny. But there is one thing these boys share in common: Noise. Lots and lots of noise.

I am by no means silent, but these boys are l-o-u-d. I mean, they give new meaning to the word. I never knew one child weighing in at fifty pounds could sound like 14 people, in army boots, each carrying a rucksack weighing 27 pounds, coming down the steps, backward. Every door, cupboard, or drawer closing can give me a coronary from any room in the house. We thought we had the perfect solution when we bought Jackson a dresser with drawers that magically shut, softly. Obviously we took the fun out of actually closing them because this is what we now find.

But it isn’t just being rough that creates the volume. If our boys can’t make noise with the object itself, they will create a soundtrack with their mouths. Actually, allow me to clarify, they will create a soundtrack with any body part available, but most often it ends up being with their mouths. Gunshot blasts, explosions, machete slices, you name it. ANY activity can generate an accompaniment worthy of the Boston Pops.

One evening Jackson, five at the time, came running over to the dinner table looking like he had seen a rocket ship land in his backyard. “Guys, I have GREAT news,” he said. “I just learned how to fart with my armpit! Listen and learn.” At which point he entertained us with his armpit concerto.

And then of course, there is the yelling at one another. For some reason Jackson has decided that he who screams the loudest, wins. Unfortunately, he’s the only one in on that plan so it takes his older brother and sister approximately 2.8 seconds to needle him enough to elicit the loudest “STOOOOOOOOOP!” he can manage, usually before 7am.

Even worse than lots of noise? None. Any parent of boys can tell you this. Imagine, you are home; boys are upstairs with friends, and then…silence. Not good. The last time I experienced this I walked down the hall in time to see Jackson hurling his lithe little body from one end of our den to the other, between the sofa and the ottoman. But since all that was viewable was the door frame, I just saw Jackson — flying. It was only because these two pieces of furniture were padded and he hadn’t hit the floor (yet), that I heard nothing. Or there was the time I walked upstairs to find a collection of neighborhood kids trying REALLY hard to throw their Legos up into the ceiling fan 10ft. above them. It was their intense concentration on timing their throws just right that kept them so quiet. Luckily we managed to walk away from that one with only a few chips in the paint and not broken windows. Or broken teeth.

Whether it’s the loud or quiet variety, boys bring with them a noise and energy all their own and I wouldn’t trade it. They are unbridled, eager, and full of spice — they are alive. And nobody sleeps harder than a tired boy after a long day of play, except maybe their mother. But today I, for one, will still be picking up the trail of socks, toys, books, and paper airplanes my boys have cast aside, all in a day’s work. Because boys have one other thing in common: Messes.

Don’t even get me STARTED about the messes.