Some days, I get so sick of hearing myself talk.  

I admit, some of it is self-inflicted, because I really want to teach my son the process of thinking, rather than just having him do what I’ve told him to do.  

Never fear: I don’t explain myself to him, and we have a lot of age-appropriate expectations.   I just want him to know why.  I want him to think.

So . . . I explain how ice is formed and what ‘extinct’ means.  We talk about what it means when a fish dies and what I noticed about the time he got angry with a friend.  I tell him why he needs to eat his veges, and not just ‘because it’s good for you.’

I reflect back his feelings and explain why the power lines dip between poles.  We talk about  the tension in my bobby pins and why that makes them go zipping across the room when he  forces them open on the edge of my drawer.  Onto the dog. And why she growls when climbs over her to retrieve them.

I never stop talking. 

“Yes, sweetie, I see.”   ”That’s wonderful!”   ”Yes, I see how you’ve taped up my manuscript pages like a ladder up the side of the stairs.  Wow!”   ”No, I didn’t know Maya doesn’t get nosebleeds when she picks her nose! How interesting.” 

And the more mundane.

“Keep your mouth closed when you’re chewing: I’ve seen it once already, when I was cooking it.”  ”You may not get up from the table unless you’re walking into the bathroom to wash your hands.”   ”Say please.”   ”Say thank-you.  :pause:  In a way I can understand.”   ”Look at people when they say Hi to you.”   ”Never talk to strangers.”

I get so tired of hearing myself talk.    

This would never be good dialogue in a story.  It’s too real, too mundane, too filled with relentless love and prosaic good intentions to ever make it in  fiction.

And yet, we do it anyhow, We keep talking.  Why?

Well, of course, because . . . it’s all about the love.

Enjoy.

Oh, and here is the person who did it originally, Anita Renfroe, I just think the quality of the first one is better.   But as an artist myself, I want to give credit where it’s due.