Allergic to Silence

My son is allergic to silence, and to complicate matters, he was vaccinated with a talking needle when I wasn't looking. He never stops, from the moment his eyes see daylight until long after the sun has set. At night, I have to tell him to close his mouth, because it's too hard to sleep while you're telling stories. It's charming--on occasion. It's exhausting, because there's a biological compulsion to respond when someone is asking a question, even questions such as "why did you close the car door?" (So you won't fall out.) "why are are you leaving me?" (so that I won't hurt you. Oops, did I really say that? It's because I have to go to work.)  "Why can't I paint on the carpet?" (Seriously?).

Some of his better ones, however, are something to remember:

"I'm going to learn to float on my back. 'Cause then I can be a lifeguard and get in the water during safety break and blow a whistle." (I can't argue with that logic. Safety breaks are the bane of my pool existence.).

On refusing to nap: "I just really felt so much like a grown up today." (Doesn't he know? Taking a nap is the one things grown-ups want to do the most!)

On a late night shuffle to daddy's bedside: "RJ, was it storming?" "No, it was the earth readjusting." (He was right--there was an earthquake).

Nostalgia: "Remember when I used to feed Sissy puffers out of my hand like a little duckling?"

On cleaning his room: "Clean-up time is not jolly time."

"When I get home, I'm gonna practice sneaking." (This might sound like something I should correct, or at least be concerned about. But I'm not. Because when I was about 6 or 7, my bestie and I had a game called simply "sneaking," the entire goal of which was to see how quietly we could tiptoe through the hallways and giggle.).

I don't have just one talker. Apparently, both of my children suffer from the same affliction. Though the discussions with GiGi are a little more limited (she's not quite two, after all):

"Gigi, what are you doing?" "Nuffin, nuffin!"

On lullabies: "Twinkle star! I want you! What you are!"

On wet toes: "I drive my toes. I get it."

On the air conditioner kicking on, a truck driving by, seeing a dog, a lawn mower, or her brother: "Ooo! Ooo! I squared (this is her word for scared--she's not really hip to be sqaure)."

And, of course, on her cats: "Cat! Noooooooo! My baby!" (GiGi is not willing to share her blankie with Ben the cat.).

When they're together, there's a noise level somewhere between a 747 coming in for a landing on top of my van and 25 barking dogs.  I wouldn't change it for anything--except maybe a soundproof curtain between the front seat and backseat, to be used only occasionally of course.