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Hey Oprah!  Do you tell everyone that addresses you to use your name both at the beginning and at the end of every sentence?  Like a drill sergeant?  I think Greg told Mikey (but not Pierce) to make sure he says “Daddy” at both ends of anything he says to him.

After I woke up today, to Greg rolling over my hair to reach the headphones on my nightstand, so that he could play a game on his Vita without waking me up, it wasn’t five minutes before Mikey blared into our room like he had been up for hours thinking up a barrage of questions for us.  Once he discovered that his dad was playing a game, he was all in.  Perched on the edge of the bed, with a plastic toy tiger, he proceeded to narrate dad’s gameplay with questions so that everyone else in the room (me) could really understand the game (that I didn’t care about.)  Occasionally, the toy tiger had to interject a growl or a roar (probably because he was wishing Mikey would ease up on the questions.)  This is about how the conversation went:

G:  Quietly playing a game with headphones on.

Mikey: Daddy?  What game is this, Daddy?

G:  It’s a new game, isn’t it cool?

Mikey:  Daddy!  Is it a big person game or a kid game, Daddy?  Daddy?  (Because daddy is great at not hearing or answering)

G:  It’s okay for both. (Who knows if it really is or not.)

Mikey:  Daddy, can you die on this game, Daddy?  Daddy?  Stand still and see if you die, Daddy.

G:  I don’t know if I can die or not (probably wishing he could.)

Mikey:  Daddy!  Rooaar!  That was tigerly helping you fight, Daddy!  Daddy, what are you doing now, Daddy?  Daddy, what is that, Daddy?  Daddy, what just happened, Daddy?

G:  (laughing) Wasn’t that cool!?  (I guess it was something like an explosion or magic, or something.)

Mikey:  Daddy, was that cool?  Was that cool, Daddy!?

G:  Yeah…

Mikey:  Daddy, what was that?  Daddy, what are you going to do next, Daddy?  Daddy, is that a bad guy, Daddy?

G:  (Silence…concentrating…headphones…)

Mikey: Daddy, is that a bad guy, Daddy?

G:  Mmm hmmm.

Mikey:  Mommy, can we eat, Mommy—can you feed me, Mommy?

Me:  In a few minutes…

Mikey:  Daddy, what is that, Daddy?  Daddy, what is that!

Me:   Let’s go eat…(no rest for the weary…)

I know this wasn’t a very celebratory post about parenthood, and that these sweet inquisitive voices will change quickly and offer up nothing to me during the teenage years.  But, jeez!  Do all kids talk from the minute their eyes open until they close at night?  Thank god, Pierce is a man a few words, or I might voluntarily check myself into solitary confinement.  Sometimes the chaos of multiple conversations coming in my direction at the same time, constant interruptions with questions and general silliness, combined with random outbursts and sound effects makes me claustrophobic.

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