When I was eighteen, I went to my first Singles Ward and was pretty surprised when Sacrament Meeting was so quiet that a pen dropping would echo throughout the entire room. Then I got used to it and, before I knew it, Andrew and I were sitting near the back of a chapel with a squealing six month old and, two and a half years later, we now sit in the very back of the very back (read: the very back of the overflow) and probably spend more time out of Sacrament Meeting than in it. We have loud children and, today while everyone else was being quiet and folding their arms, our little Huckleberry squealed like a cross between a pterodactyl, seal, and a raptor, and our little Maximillian (who turns THREE tomorrow!) was playing with Mr. Freeze and stealing his brother's sippy cup and, at one point, he walked over to my bag, grabbed a book about Superman (Golden Classics, y'all!) and said, "Oh! Thank you, Mommy!" loud enough for the whole overflow to hear.
And then! When Henry passed the time-to-hit-the-hallway noise level, Maxwell jumped up and said "I'm going with my Daddy!" and raced after him like a superhero. And I can only remember a tiny bit from each talk and I can't remember the last time I sat in church without leaving the room an average of two or three times per hour, but I much prefer our loud Sundays to the quiet Sundays of our past. Chaos just suits me better, y'know?