852,000 . . . that’s how many questions my youngest asked me yesterday. . . give or take maybe five.
500 . . . that’s how many questions she’s asked me this morning, but not to worry . . . give the girl some time. As I write this it is, after all, not even 8:00 a.m. on this fine Saturday morn.
Don’t get me wrong, I thank God daily that she can and does express herself verbally . . . this child who at three years of age had almost no expressive language . . . I mean it is a beautiful thing. But y’all, I kid you not, she says all the words, all the time. We’re just one month into summer with two still to go, and quite honestly, my ears are tired.
“Mom . . . what’s 30 + 40?”
“Mom . . . you’re 40! What’s 40 + 40?” And then she answers her own question because she knows the answer . . . “80!” Followed by boisterous laughter. Thanks for taking the time to point out I’m halfway to 80, kiddo. Appreciate that.
“Mom . . . what’s for supper . . . tonight . . . tomorrow . . . on Thursday?”
“Mom what time is it?” She can look at a clock and tell.
“Mom . . . when do we go back to school?” Also, knows the answer to that.
“Mom when is my dentist appointment? In July? What day? What time?”
You get the gist . . . some of these questions are repeat offenders. Some are not. She knows the answers to probably 75% of them, and honestly, it’s a whole lot of nonsense talk. Her way of feeling secure and making sure I’m still here and ready to communicate. I get the reason behind it so no need to write me about that. It’s neither abnormal nor unusual for a child with a traumatic past to ask tons of questions or talk incessantly. Especially when things are different and our schedule is a little less predictable as it tends to be during the summer months. It’s hard for her to lean into the whole go with the flow feel of summer . . . well, as go with the flow as I can be. We’re not going completely off the rails here.
Plus both of my kids are talkers . . . and they’re both more like my husband . . . social and extroverted . . . I’m neither. I love when I have stretches of silence with no one speaking words to me. It’s nice. It energizes me. But alas, my family members, not a one of them, grasp the need for silence. I mean even my teenager still recounts every. single. second. of his day. At least once, but usually twice, to both my husband and myself. Most of the time, I get to hear both since I’m typically present for both accounts one and two. Yay me! He’s been volunteering at a day camp this week so for a few hours each day the words are cut in half . . . maybe . . . I may have just realized that Anna is making up for Andrew not being present by upping her game. But I digress . . . as I was saying . . . then there’s basketball . . . don’t even get me started on the never-ending basketball stats. He can talk basketball for hours completely oblivious to the fact that my eyes are crossing, and I’ve totally zoned out. More power to him though. It’s quite impressive.
So yeah, my ears are bleeding from all the talking. Still I want my kids to talk to me . . . I really do . . . and I’m here for it so I walk away, silently scream, take about 50 deep breaths, and return to listen. But sometimes . . . just occasionally . . . I tell them to give me five . . . five minutes of glorious silence. And then I look at the clock and the calendar and realize, “Only a few more hours until bedtime . . . for the youngest anyway . . . and only two more months of summer. You’ve got this woman! Your ears will survive . . . maybe.”
Here’s to those glorious moments of silence. May we embrace each one.
Side note 1: Yes, my kids are involved in some activities. No advice needed on how to keep them entertained. I actually don’t believe in offering endless entertainment all summer long. They read. They swim. They build things . . . I don’t know. I tell them to find something to do. That’s how I roll. But they’re good. I promise.
Side note 2 (and most importantly): I love and adore my children. They’re the “bees knees”, if you will. This is written 100% tongue in cheek. Having gone through a long period of “nonverbal-ness” (not an actual word) with my youngest and honestly, not knowing during that time if she would ever verbally communicate or to what I extent, I completely understand how that feels and appreciate the gift that is her sweet little voice. But y’all, my kids are also imperfect little peeps, like their mama, and I’ll never be the mom to look at every single thing they do and say in a saccharine sweet voice, “Oh how wonderful!!!” I say it about 95% of the time . . . okay, maybe 90%. But let’s face it, it’s the other 5-10% that keeps us parents humble. And that’s cool. But don’t come at me . . . I don’t need a comment or an email . . . or whatever telling me how mean I am. 😉
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