Our older son has always been a thinker and a talker. I don't want to mommy brag because that is boring to everyone but the mom doing the bragging, but I do think that it's helpful to know, as you're getting a feel for his fun personality, that he has been talking in full paragraphs since he was 18 months old. And when kids learn to vocalize that young, some of the things that come out of their mouths are just hilariously awesome.
And our kid? As soon as he learned to string together those paragraphs, well, that's all she wrote, folks. There hasn't been a quiet moment in this house since. You can constantly see those wheels in his head a-spinning, and you don't have to wonder what he's thinking about for long because he will tell you.
Every single time.
With nary a breath in between what he had said only seconds before.
It's a lot of fun. (I know that last line sounded smartassy, but it really is a lot of fun.)
Anyway, two years ago when he was 4, we had put him to bed the Saturday night before Easter. He was having trouble sleeping in all of his anxious anticipation of the Easter Bunny's visit the next day, so each time I went in to check on him, he would tell me something new.
The first time I walked into his bedroom, he expressed concern about the Easter buckets that we'd left out: "Do we have any more buckets, Mom? Or maybe you could get some cups from the cabinet and set those out, too?"
"Why?" I asked him. "The buckets that we have will work just fine."
"Because then I'll get more candy," he explained.
I smiled. "I don't think it works that way, buddy."
"Well, just in case, set, like, my shoes next to my Easter bucket, too. Both of them."
The second time I walked in to check on him, the sound of his little voice met me at his bedroom door. "MOM," he said.
"You're not asleep yet?" I asked, laughing.
"Do you know what the Easter Bunny brings to boys and girls who haven't been good?" he continued. "All, like, healthy stuff."
Later that night, when he had finally fallen asleep, I had to restrain myself from digging out a new bucket and writing my husband's name on it just so I could throw a shitload of carrots and celery into it and shoot my son knowing glances the next day when his dad discovered it.
I couldn't, though. I had to be good. It was Easter, after all, and dammit if I wanted to wake up and find a basket of vegetables with my name on it.