The vortex

There are many things in this world that I don't understand.

Weird. I feel like I preface many of my posts with this kind of disclaimer about my profound confusion. Not sure though. You can go back and check.

Anyway, what got me today was the apparent sound vortex that exists in my house.

This morning, I'm upstairs, feeding the baby and thinking about the eight things I would be doing to get the boys ready for school if I weren't otherwise occupied. But it's making me anxious because Chris is probably going to take the boys and leave before I've finished nursing and those eight things won't get taken care of. So I shout, "Chris!"

Nothing.

I pause, listen, . . . I can hear the squeak of the dining room chair as Chris shifts in his seat. The clink of his spoon as he eats his bowl of whatever. So, theoretically, if I can hear him swallow, he should be able to hear me bellow. Right?

So, again, "Chris!"

Again, nothing.

Is he ignoring me? Does noise only travel up? Is he deaf? Do I have a tiny mouse voice?

So I cover the baby's ear and proceed to scream: CHRIS!!!!

He finally hears me, and the weird thing is I can hear him hear me; the pause in the turning of magazine pages, the scrape as he pushes back his chair, his footsteps as he walks closer to the the stairs.

"Beth?"

I don't answer. Partly for fun and partly because the baby was so shocked by my last eruption that I'd rather not startle her again.

Eventually Chris comes bounding up the stairs, angry, wondering why I have to scream like that because it scares him.

I sigh, and list the things that need doing: Owen needs his allergy meds, don't forget to make sure Sam is wearing tennis shoes because he has a tennis lesson today, the kids homework is on the chair in the kitchen, blah, blah, blah.

But apparently I was still talking too quietly because when I came down after he took them the homework was still sitting in the kitchen.