You know, they often harass me - my children. Constantly share something, argue, quarrel. They chat incessantly, sing, spin. They rumble, stomping, with screeching are carried around the apartment. And when silence suddenly occurs, I want to hide in a corner and not stick out - just not to wake up. “Probably, they draw or read a book there,” I say to myself. But deep down, of course, I know: if the children are quiet, they are dirty.
