You Talk Too Much

Harry is afraid to be alone. He won't get dressed in his room by himself. He forces me to follow him around the house looking for miniscule but indispensable lego pieces. It's an enormous pain but I try to be sympathetic. He also never stops talking. Not ever. If he has nothing on his mind he'll just describe what's going on around him. Like color-commentary on his own life. Herein lies the rub. In order to take a dump (for which he needs privacy, of course) he has to talk to me in the other room (so as not to get scared). However, he can't think of anything besides taking said dump when he's on the can. I think I'm going to start him on Twitter.

One day Harry got a sore throat. He talked a lot about it naturally. Ike and I listened to him talk about when it hurts, how long he thought it would last, what medicine Mommy said he should take, et al.  At one point, he wondered where his sore throat came from, to which Ike responded, "Maybe it's because you talk too much."

Ike's four and a half now. He's never taken karate or anything like it. The other day he executed a brutal takedown on his nine-year old cousin, followed by one of those arm-lock-in-the-leg things. Like he was trying to get his cousin to tap out. He's like the Mozart of MMA.