I love, love, love our youngest. Quite frankly, if she is not one of the cutest, funniest kids around, I don’t know who is. She’s smart, beautiful, laughs easily and is pretty quick-witted for a just-turned six-year-old. Our little bubble of joy is sweet and loving and the hugger of all.

Each day after school she would run and jump into my arms and hug me tight. She would run back to her teacher to hug her and then run around to hug each of her classmates she could find. Each child’s face would light up with a big smile and hug her back. They didn’t seem under duress.

Yes, our girl is a great kid and has been quite a gift to me and my husband. However, the child never stops talking. NEVER. STOPS. TALKING. never.

Well, I should modify that statement just a teeny tiny bit. She never stops talking at home. It starts from the moment I get her up in the morning, until she goes back to bed at night. Sometimes she even talks in her sleep. I wondered aloud how she doesn’t get in trouble at school for talking. She said she doesn’t talk that much at school. When she does, she informed me, she talks low. Lucky me.

It’s not her fault I suppose—it’s in her DNA. My grandmother was quite the talker. Oh my, that woman rambled on. My dad tells me he used to get into a lot of trouble for talking too much—probably because grandma couldn’t talk if he was talking. I’ve never personally known him to be a talker, however, if you ask him for directions, you will get far more information than you will ever need, including a hand-drawn map with every possible landmark in the area. My sister is a talker too, but, thankfully, is usually quite entertaining. My husband can chatter a bit and he has a sister that could talk you into a coma.

I, however, am not a talker. I could go weeks at a time without saying a word to another soul and be completely content. There are times when it feels like it drains every last bit of energy I have to say “What honey?” after she’s said “Momma” 500 times in a row. I don’t think I’d mind letting her talk away, except for the fact that she actually wants me to respond to her. And not just one response. She wants me to be an active participant in each and every thought that crosses her mind.

“Momma are you listening to me?”
“No,” I confess, “I’m not, because you won’t stop talking.”
“Well, mommy, …” she prattles on unfazed.

Must have quiet. So much talking stresses me out.
Oh, Lord Jesus, please help me not to go insane.

One trick I used to help me endure one of her more incessant talking binges was to find and play for her the video “You Talk Too Much” by Run DMC.  She thought it was hilarious. So every once in a while I’ll say, “You talk too much.” She’ll respond in a voice like the video, “You never shut up.” Then we giggle together. I still don’t know if she understands that I mean it, but thank the Lord for that song because it has helped me get through some moments with a smile.

I tell her it’s a good thing she’s so cute… and smart. She can tell when I’m about to lose it—probably because my voice goes pitchy as I fall to my knees in desperation before her and plead, “What? What do you want? Would you please stop talking? I’ll give you my kingdom for silence. Please, I’m begging you.” She looks at me with fake confusion and a slight pout, puts her arms around me and says, “Mommy, I just wanted to tell you I love you… and you’re so very beautiful.”

I love that kid. Keep talking girl.