My children can play on a gorgeous evening like tonight, with the windows open, and I don't have to be outside to know *exactly* what they are doing. I could be in here with the windows closed, and I'd still know what they were doing. The entire neighborhood knows *exactly* what they are doing.
So, I see it as a gift. I can send them in the backyard to play and safely get my chores done inside. Or watch TV. Or something else that's likely not chores. I don't have to worry about them getting into something or wonder what they are doing, because my ears are well award of what they are doing. I know precisely when someone is going to come inside and tattle, because I've just heard the altercation and the inevitable "I'm going to tell mom what you just did." And then I go hide.
As much as the loud is obnoxious, I don't long for the day when my backyard is quiet on a gorgeous fall evening. Because that means I have sulky teenagers. Or teenagers out with friends.
The loud. It's a gift. And not one that I'm ready to return.