Did you hear that?

At exactly 6:21 am, on this chilly Tuesday morning, the gates of hell were opened. That would be the exact moment that my husband woke up Jenna. She goes from zero to screaming in less than .1 seconds. People within a 5 block radius run for an interior closet, throwing pillows and mattresses over their loved ones because the sound of Jenna's scream is louder than the loudest tornado warning system ever invented. Child Protective Services just ignores all calls that come in from our zip code between the hours of 6:20 and 7am, because they know it's just "that Townsend kid."

"Scream" really doesn't do that sound justice. It's so much more than just a scream--it's a long-lasting, loud and mighty wail that resonates through your bones. From the moment it begins, it doesn't dip in crescendo. I used to wait for her to take a breath, but now I know that the kid has better breath control than Jacque Costeau so I just don't wait anymore. Incredible as it may seem, I have learned to ignore it. I can get her dressed, fix her hair, brush her teeth, wash her face, put on her shoes, and get her all zipped in her jacket--while she screams her head off. Impressive, I know. When she finally gets loaded in the car, the silence of the house is frightening, so I often scream. Just so I feel comfortable.

Scott is not as talented as I. He has a harder time ignoring it. We tag-teamed this morning--squirting 3 types of medicine in Jenna's mouth with a syringe. He had to hold her, I had to syringe her. It's much like trying to get a cat to take a pill (minus the claws). After we medicated her, Scott went off somewhere--most likely under the bed to cry and question God as to why we have created the demon spawn--while I put her coat on. Scott returned from his hiding place, took Claire out to the truck, then came back in to get Jenna. Jenna screamed at the top of her lungs (my neighbors don't need alarm clocks!) while Scott battled her body-stiffening technique to try to get her strapped in the car seat. Meanwhile, I had shut the door and was studying the sudden silence of my house, while the cat removed herself from the ceiling. Next thing I know, the door opens, Jenna is set down in the foyer (to be pronounced 'foy-yer'--not 'foy-yay'), and I hear the truck burn rubber as it squeals out of the driveway.

Guess daddy couldn't take the screaming.

And for those who are wondering: Claire was an innocent bystander in all of this. Happily putzing around the house, finding bits of fuzz and catfood to munch on. Most likely, taking notes.

God help us.