I’m sorry I bought my children a karaoke machine. I know my kids are already noisy enough, screaming on the trampoline at all hours, and playing the drums. Badly.
I’m sorry my husband and I sang the whole of Bohemian Rhapsody, even though we’re terrible singers and it’s the first time I’ve ever sung karaoke (for that reason).
On the plus side, it turns out our microphones weren’t actually on. It could have been much worse.
I’m sorry our back garden acts like an amphitheatre and all noise is strangely echoed around the entire village. I know, because I hear them when I’m walking the dog, nearly half a mile away. I cringe. I feel your pain.
While we’re at it, I’m sorry I sometimes yell at them like a fishwife, with language a sailor would be proud of. What can I say? We’re not all born to be calm parents.
Look at it this way.
I hear your cars roaring as your teenage boys come home at midnight. And I know I have all that to look forward to.
I hear your babies screaming and having tantrums and I give a tiny smile of relief that those days are passed. Unless they’re your grandkids, in which case, I look forward to that with joy. Grandparents can give them back.
When your dog barks at your lawnmower for half an hour, I feel better about mine barking at the postman like he’s here to rob the house.
Neighbours, please accept my apologies for living our noisy crazy life. Be tolerant. It will be over in a few years.