My…my…my…

…head came pretty close to exploding last night. You see, Casa de Katie can be…a little boisterous. There is talking and laughing and whining and reminding and pretty much all of the noises all of the time. Especially when the three of us are sitting down at the dinner table, talking about our day, we are rather exuberant in our discussions. I am a talker. Gracie is a talker who could put me to shame with the sheer number of things she has to say. And Bee – Bee isn’t so much a talker. That is, unless she has something to say. Then she’s a say it. Best be warned.

The problem is learning to get a word in edgewise. I’ve learned to put up a finger and conversation will usually break off. But I’m a momma with special powers. I don’t think the Finger of Silence would work for Bee. For a while, the rule was you each took turns with a sentence in order to create some sort of rules and ease up on the arguing over whose turn it was to talk. A’ course, the result was that the girls got to be very good at constructing compound-complex sentences and then instead of arguing over whose turn it was to tell me something, we were arguing over why the heck that was still just one sentence. Then we went back to a jungle of words, where the bravest soul to step into an empty space, no matter how small, got the floor. It usually ended up with someone trampling over the end of someone else’s speech, but that’s how it goes in a busy house.

Until Bee’s  new method showed up to a less than enthusiastic Mommy review.

Gracie was talking, telling me…oh heaven knows what she was telling me. The point was she was talking. And Bee was going something like, “My…my…my…my…” waiting for that fatalistic moment when Gracie would have to take a breath and Bee could plunge into the rest of her sentence while Gracie gulped in enough air for two days worth of tales. The problem was that Gracie was getting pissed at Bee’s staccato interruptions and kept faltering in the end of whatever it was she was trying to say.

I couldn’t really blame her – my patience was wearing pretty thin at the annoying “My…my…my”s, too. An ingenious way to make sure you’re the next person to speak, but good god – who would want to hear it after all of that?!

I reminded Bee that we at Casa de Katie do not do that, and then played Conversation Police for the rest of our meal, making sure each child had equal floor time.

Stories kind of lose their flavor that way. Did you notice?

I’m hoping to go back to peaceful conversational chaos soon. My ears can multitask when there’s some sort of flow to it all, and not just some ploy to shut the other sister up long enough to say something like “My teacher says 2+2 is 4.” True. But it smacks of sister-shut-up. Oh the trials and tribulations of being 8 and 6. And being their mama.

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2 Responses to “My…my…my…”

  1. Kathy Says:

    Oh, I didn’t like that part of growing up – teaching my kids to be patient and wait their turn to speak. It almost always ended in hurt feelings. We still struggle sometimes but it is better. My, my, my co-workers are nuts and I wish that bottle of wine was still here. 🙂

  2. Kim Says:

    Now, if you had a pantry with a cozy radiator just outside, you’d have the perfect spot for some one-on-one mommy chats…

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