So my nephew, Samuel, was in town the other day, and he clearly had a severe case of what specialists call Chatterboxitus.
Chatterboxing is a serious medical condition that afflicts small children and causes them to talk. Constantly. Without stopping for breaths. Its only known cure is leaving the patient with grandparents while the parents go out for dinner. And probably drinks.
And, in the interest of full disclosure, I feel obliged to confess this: Both of my children are recovering chatterboxes.
For those of you not familiar with small children, here is a simple test to determine if a child is chatterboxing: Did he or she wake up around 4 in the morning and talk nonstop for the next 12 hours?
It is quite an amazing stream of consciousness. When we arrived at the house on Saturday morning, I saw Samuel standing in the middle of the den. He was dancing. And singing. And attempting to juggle. And talking to the cat. And having a conversation with the "Astroboy" movie that was on TV.
I looked over at my sister, who sighed. Parents of chatterboxes do that a lot. We sigh. Because we have tried EVERYTHING. And it only leads to more chatterboxing. "Why are you breathing like that? I want to breathe like that. It's kind of like a yawn. I like yawns. But not sleeping. My bed has Batman sheets."
My folks had tried a little diversion earlier in the day. They had taken him for a walk that morning, and he offered this commentary: "Is that a tree? Is it a pineapple tree? We could have pineapples. Are there coconut trees? We could get a coconut. Is that a tree? Look there. Another tree." Repeat this type of conversation for about two blocks.
Now, before you go judging Samuel (or, worse, his wonderful uncle), let me clarify that he was doing what most kids do - getting riled up and excited and having a blast. He's not even 3, and add to that mix going to Grandma and Grandpa's, where there are aunts and uncles and cousins and popsicles - LOTS of popsicles. Pretty easy to get on the riled up side. Trust me, I know. As I said, my kids are recovering chatterboxes.
I remember a time when my daughter was about that age. I asked my wife, "Why won't she stop talking?" This was on the last leg of a trip to Atlanta. My son was diagnosed when a friend of ours took him for the day. She called us during a car ride and asked, "Does he ever stop talking?"
The conversations of chatterboxes are truly amazing. Like Samuel's infatuation with trees, they often focus on the current interest of the child, and then spawn into run-on thoughts. Example:
"Do you like pirates? I like pirates. Do they fight vikings? Who would win between a Viking and pirate? Would the loser go to jail? Would it be Viking jail or pirate jail? And can police officers arrest a Viking? How about a pirate? Police officers have big belts. They keep guns on them. Vikings don't have guns. Do they have belts? If a pirate had a belt, could he have a gun?"
My response was usually something like: "AHHHHHH!!!! STOP STOP STOP STOP!!!!!"
Of course, now that my kids have outgrown the chatterbox stage, I find myself not being as bothered by the bouts. For example, when I first saw my nephew going nuts, was my reaction to call for him to stop? To try and find him an outlet? To seek a distraction? Or, possibly, was is it to encourage my dad to get his iPhone, which has a video camera on it, so that he could film that awesomeness of Samuel doing a cat impersonation?
I'm gonna go with the latter.
Let's be honest - chatterboxing is something some kids do when they need to channel some energy and don't quite know how to do it. They'll learn eventually that there are better ways to harness that energy. Such as finding a coconut tree. And a pineapple tree. With a pirate. And a Viking.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
DC comical
So my family and I just spent five days in Washington, D.C. Let's go to the highlight reel:
* I am clueless on what to tip when unless it's a restaurant. When it comes to valet parking (which was required at the hotel we were at), I was glad I listened to my sister's advice: Keep a bunch of $1s and $5s handy. Of course, I showed my true level of unsophistication when, needing a bag out of the van, I told the guy he just needed to show me a way into the garage, not bring the car around.
* If you have ever taken a 7-year-old into an art gallery, you know the most common comment from everyone else in the gallery is, "Why did they bring a 7-year-old into an art gallery?" My wife solved that problem by having our son count the number of animals he found in paintings. Always nice to walk into a quiet room full of masterpieces and hear, "Lion. Peacock. Dog. Dog. Up to 22."
* Speaking of art, my son did offer one piece of art critique. We went into a Mark Rothko exhibit, which featured as series of large black rectangles, on which were painted smaller black rectangles. His comment: "This is considered art?" Now I am sure some of you can give me sheer volumes on why it was, in fact, art. But we didn't stick around to study it. We went on to see dinosaur bones. They were awesome.
* We were amazed by the traffic and pedestrians. Everyone just marched along, waiting for their red/green light or walk/don't walk signal. Clearly, the execution of jaywalkers has sent the desired message.
* At our visit to the National Zoo, we were fortunate to experience not only an octopus feeding, but also a display of the adult female Homo sapiens, and how they can band together against one who has gone against tribe culture. During the set 3 p.m. octopus feeding, a woman with a small child sidled up to the tank and blocked pretty much everyone's view, while holding her child up to the glass. The child alternated between disinterest and sleep. When a woman next to me asked the woman to step back so that others could see, Mrs. Glass Hog responded that she had earned her spot there and would not move. At that point, the females behind her banded together. They began finding as many kids who were blocked out and essentially wedged them in front of her. The woman next to me (no, not my wife) leaned in and whispered something to the woman, and ended with a comment to her about how she was a big baby.
* There are three - THREE - floors to the Air and Space Museum's gift shop. I may actually still be there.
* My wife and I often remark that it does not do much for our appearance of being small town folks when our kids, say, marvel at escalators. They took it a notch higher in D.C. "Daddy, why is that woman in the dress collecting things from the trash can?" Nothing to see here, sweetie. Nothing to see.
* Speaking of being small town folks, my wife is from Atlanta, which is, I am sure you have noticed, NOT a small town. My wife was raised with this mentality of a big city: It is bad and here to kill you. So, when we were heading home one evening and the President's motorcade was leaving a charity event, she was thrilled that we were in, what I believe, was the safest place on the planet. From the guys on the street to the guys on the buildings to the guys in dark SUVs everywhere you looked, we were plenty confident that this big city was under control. We got to see the President's car leave, and, I am fairly certain, saw his silhouette in one of the limos. Of course, he might have also left an hour prior in a 2002 Nissan Maxima that no one paid attention to.
* Lines schmines. We had a White House tour set up for 9 a.m. on Wednesday morning. We arrived about 8:45 a.m., and saw a line that stretched roughly to Baltimore. I approached the guard there, hoping to find out those people were actually in line for a Treasury Department tour or something. "Uh, is this the..." She cut me off. "For the White House tour, yes, sir. Do you have an appointment?" I told her we had a 9 a.m. appointment. "Oh, right here," she said, motioning me to a second line that consisted of a whopping four people. "What is the last line?" I asked. "The 8:30 tour," she said. Note to self: Half-hour tours are for suckers.
* The best meal I ate the whole time: The one the kids were most anticipating: A hot dog on the Mall. Mmm, mmm, patriotism.
* Two of the biggest WOW! moments came at the American History Museum. The look on Parker's face when he saw C-3PO, and the look on Allie's face when she saw Dorothy's ruby slippers. My wife had her WOW! moment seeing Julia Child's kitchen. Did I mention we saw C-3PO? WOW!
It was a great trip, and I know I have only scratched the surface of adventure. It is definitely a town we could visit over and over. I just need to find out where the Presidential motorcade will be so we can be safe.
* I am clueless on what to tip when unless it's a restaurant. When it comes to valet parking (which was required at the hotel we were at), I was glad I listened to my sister's advice: Keep a bunch of $1s and $5s handy. Of course, I showed my true level of unsophistication when, needing a bag out of the van, I told the guy he just needed to show me a way into the garage, not bring the car around.
* If you have ever taken a 7-year-old into an art gallery, you know the most common comment from everyone else in the gallery is, "Why did they bring a 7-year-old into an art gallery?" My wife solved that problem by having our son count the number of animals he found in paintings. Always nice to walk into a quiet room full of masterpieces and hear, "Lion. Peacock. Dog. Dog. Up to 22."
* Speaking of art, my son did offer one piece of art critique. We went into a Mark Rothko exhibit, which featured as series of large black rectangles, on which were painted smaller black rectangles. His comment: "This is considered art?" Now I am sure some of you can give me sheer volumes on why it was, in fact, art. But we didn't stick around to study it. We went on to see dinosaur bones. They were awesome.
* We were amazed by the traffic and pedestrians. Everyone just marched along, waiting for their red/green light or walk/don't walk signal. Clearly, the execution of jaywalkers has sent the desired message.
* At our visit to the National Zoo, we were fortunate to experience not only an octopus feeding, but also a display of the adult female Homo sapiens, and how they can band together against one who has gone against tribe culture. During the set 3 p.m. octopus feeding, a woman with a small child sidled up to the tank and blocked pretty much everyone's view, while holding her child up to the glass. The child alternated between disinterest and sleep. When a woman next to me asked the woman to step back so that others could see, Mrs. Glass Hog responded that she had earned her spot there and would not move. At that point, the females behind her banded together. They began finding as many kids who were blocked out and essentially wedged them in front of her. The woman next to me (no, not my wife) leaned in and whispered something to the woman, and ended with a comment to her about how she was a big baby.
* There are three - THREE - floors to the Air and Space Museum's gift shop. I may actually still be there.
* My wife and I often remark that it does not do much for our appearance of being small town folks when our kids, say, marvel at escalators. They took it a notch higher in D.C. "Daddy, why is that woman in the dress collecting things from the trash can?" Nothing to see here, sweetie. Nothing to see.
* Speaking of being small town folks, my wife is from Atlanta, which is, I am sure you have noticed, NOT a small town. My wife was raised with this mentality of a big city: It is bad and here to kill you. So, when we were heading home one evening and the President's motorcade was leaving a charity event, she was thrilled that we were in, what I believe, was the safest place on the planet. From the guys on the street to the guys on the buildings to the guys in dark SUVs everywhere you looked, we were plenty confident that this big city was under control. We got to see the President's car leave, and, I am fairly certain, saw his silhouette in one of the limos. Of course, he might have also left an hour prior in a 2002 Nissan Maxima that no one paid attention to.
* Lines schmines. We had a White House tour set up for 9 a.m. on Wednesday morning. We arrived about 8:45 a.m., and saw a line that stretched roughly to Baltimore. I approached the guard there, hoping to find out those people were actually in line for a Treasury Department tour or something. "Uh, is this the..." She cut me off. "For the White House tour, yes, sir. Do you have an appointment?" I told her we had a 9 a.m. appointment. "Oh, right here," she said, motioning me to a second line that consisted of a whopping four people. "What is the last line?" I asked. "The 8:30 tour," she said. Note to self: Half-hour tours are for suckers.
* The best meal I ate the whole time: The one the kids were most anticipating: A hot dog on the Mall. Mmm, mmm, patriotism.
* Two of the biggest WOW! moments came at the American History Museum. The look on Parker's face when he saw C-3PO, and the look on Allie's face when she saw Dorothy's ruby slippers. My wife had her WOW! moment seeing Julia Child's kitchen. Did I mention we saw C-3PO? WOW!
It was a great trip, and I know I have only scratched the surface of adventure. It is definitely a town we could visit over and over. I just need to find out where the Presidential motorcade will be so we can be safe.
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