Let Them Be Little... and Loud

Why noise, mess, and a million questions might just be the best thing for your child’s growth

There is never a quiet moment in my house. Not one.

My kids are loud. Like really loud.

They talk in their sleep. They hum while they eat. They narrate their every move like a nature documentary.

There are sound effects for everything—from brushing teeth to climbing into the car seat. Sometimes I wonder if they’ve mistaken our living room for a full-time improv stage.

And don’t get me started on the questions. Oh, the questions. Who invented the word obnoxious and why is it spelled so obnoxiously? Why doesn’t an octopus have elbows? If a cow drank lemonade, would the milk taste different?

And just when I’m about to craft a thoughtful, teachable answer… they’ve already answered themselves. Incorrectly. Confidently. Loudly. Or they’ve changed the subject altogether because now they’re pretending to be lizards who eat jellybeans.

They don’t stop moving either. They dig holes, climb trees, slide down banisters, and build forts out of everything I just folded. They’re always sweaty. Always dirty. And always barefoot, even if they were wearing shoes 30 seconds ago.

But here’s the thing: Right there in the noise, the chaos, the never-ending motion—that’s where curiosity lives. That’s where learning happens. That’s childhood.

Messy, Loud, Wild... and Brilliant

When we picture learning, we often think of desks, pencils, and quiet concentration. But that’s not how kids are wired—especially not in the summer. They learn by doing, moving, touching, questioning, pretending.

They learn when they dig in the dirt (because God made dirt, and dirt don’t hurt—shoutout to my parents for that one).They learn when they ask 45 questions before breakfast. They learn when they put on a construction hat, grab a magnifying glass, and go solve “mysteries” in the backyard.

They’re scientists, philosophers, future inventors, and theologians all rolled into one. They don’t just want to know things—they want to experience them. And yeah, they might leave a trail of Goldfish and discarded socks in their wake, but they’re also building brains that think critically and hearts that wonder deeply.

These Kids Aren’t Off-Track—They’re Trailblazers

In the middle of the madness, it’s easy to forget that all this wild energy is holy work. That your child’s constant talking, bouncing, narrating, and costume-changing might just be evidence of a future world-changer.

They’re not “too much.” They’re exactly enough.

So what do we do with it all? We steward it. We make space for it. We try—on our best days—to laugh instead of yell. And on the days we do yell, we apologize, ask for God’s grace, and start again.

Because this is the good stuff. This is where they learn to be problem-solvers and deep thinkers. This is where they learn to trust their voice, question the world around them, and maybe even change it one day.

Practical Tips from a Mom in the Middle of It

Here’s what I’ve learned (the hard way):

• Keep a “Curiosity Journal.” When the questions come faster than your answers, jot them down. Answer them later. Or don’t. Just let your kids see that their thoughts matter.

• Record the hilarious or insightful things they say. It’ll give you a reason to smile when the house is finally quiet at 10 p.m. and you’re folding the same pajamas for the 14th time.

• Let them dress up. As doctors. As Sonic. As dinosaurs. As a lizard who also happens to be Santa. It’s not chaos—it’s cognitive growth in disguise.

• Embrace the mess. (Even if you also Google “easy toy storage bins” at midnight while muttering about clutter.)

  
  

Let Them Be Loud. Let Them Be Little.

You are not doing it wrong because your kids are loud. Or busy. Or curious beyond what your coffee can handle. You’re doing it exactly right.

Let them ask. Let them play. Let them wonder. Let them be the loud, beautiful, wild thinkers God made them to be.

And when it all feels like too much… just whisper to yourself, “God made dirt… and dirt don’t hurt.”

Then breathe deep.

You’re raising trailblazers.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go explain (again) why squirrels don’t wear shoes.

Bless it. And bless this loud, curious life. 💛