Prattling Pickle

So…once upon a time, I was a chatterbox of the worst kind (okay, yes...I still talk way too much). I was that kid...the one that had “just one last thing to say”…drove my parents and teachers crazy. I vividly remember the moment in Mr. Hart’s fourth grade class, when he'd had it with my incessant chattering – a third strike kind of deal. He walked over to my “post office” desk, picked it up, and moved it to a corner. I stood there in shock and tried to reason with him…I pleaded that I had to sit next to my cousin – I’m sure I “promised” I would stop talking. He wasn’t buying it. I don’t blame him…I was a pain in the ass. I was also that kid that despised being away from the “fun” – I’m sure my pouty face was ridiculous. It was such a cool time in fourth grade – we each chose a business that we wanted to run and create a mock-up booth that was attached to our desk. I was a giant pen-pal nerd, so I was stoked about my post office – I could write letters all day long and send them from my own post office. Now who would want to visit my post office in the corner…it was kind of an off-limits area. Consequences, my friend…fun lesson.

As such, I was also that kid that NEVER stopped talking at home. Especially when it was time to be quiet - as in, she set the timer on the oven with a stern "you have to be quiet for five minutes" time…but I always had “one more thing” I had to tell Mom. I’m going to admit this now – I’m nearly forty years old and I still cannot sit through the five-minute oven timer quietly. I can see my mom’s exasperated face as the timer ticked down a minute or so…and I would be bursting to tell her something. Yeah…pretty sure she reset the timer – every.single.time.

Another super-annoying thing I liked to do (and still do, on occasion), is call my parents by their first name. They have never thought it was funny and I still get the stern looks. In fact, after Boogie Nights came out…I may have called Papa Kirk “Dirk” – he finally watched the movie and was pissed. Right, I’m so funny?!

So…here we are – many, many, many years later and I’m strolling around with an adorable, scowling toddler – thinking life is grand. It is grand, don’t get me wrong…but this sweet-ass-ka

rma stuff is no bueno sometimes. I strolled in to the school playground yesterday and the Pickle (who is part bloodhound) spots me from 20’ away. She smiles and yells “DEEEELA, DEEELA, DEEELA”…unfortunately, I laughed. Wrong move, Momma-sita. At this point, she thinks it’s really funny now – she continues on calling my name. I scoop her up and say “No, I’m Mommy.” It’s too late…we’re on a first-name basis at this point. Until she wants “appleshosh” – then I’m Mommy. Apparently threenagers know how to play the game.

After our ridiculously long 100' journey from the playground to the car where I hear “no, I want to do it” and “no, my turn” – which relate to walking to car without holding my hand and getting into the car – and carseat by herself…then the buckling of the carseat. I could go on all day, but you get the picture. It's amazing how much patient you can be with a ridiculously cute kid. I explain that we have to go to the store and she immediately associates this with ice cream - what the heck? The fifteen minute ride to Sam's...and the subsequent time it takes to get to the deli counter (and maybe I stopped in the liquor section first) - is "I want ice cream" and "I want dat"...seriously, I deserve this. I realize that as I'm looking at her thinking "just hold your horses", my mom's face popped into my head and she was laughing hysterically...yep, she was right.

As to further prove that my childhood chattiness would come back to haunt me, the Pickle sings and talks to herself the entire drive home. At one point, she's singing (and gesturing) the "ram, sam, sam..." song - she stops and says to herself "oh, you want the abc's?" and "okay"...commence abc's. 

This should probably be a "Dear Mom, I now understand your wish for a few moments of silence..." post - but you know...she's already laughing at this. 

xo