I've written much about my son - his sweetness, his flair for pathos and his non-stop talking. He is the originator of the Laller Laller Laller craze, and trademarked the phrase "I'm a pain in my own butt!" His constant need to share adds a level of white noise to my day that lulls me like a hypnotist, or alternately drives me crazy like a mosquito buzzing in my ear.

Apparently I did the same thing as a kid, and still overshare as an adult. It's a by-product of my thinking process.

But enough about me. And my son, for that matter.

What with my busy brain and all, I've decided to rise when my eyes first pop open in the morning. Provided it's not like 2am, or something. This morning, my eyes shot open at 6 am. The kids were all still asleep, so I made coffee and checked my email. I heard small footsteps coming down the hall, and I looked up to see my youngest, the two and a half year old round the corner and beam at me.

She trotted over to me and gave me a kiss and a hug (saying Mmm, mmm, mmm the whole time - little piggy love grunts.) I plopped her down on the floor next to my chair, and she launched into a dramatic monologue that apparently catalogued her dreams from the previous night, included a made up portion about how she fell down and hit the top of her head yesterday on the beach and oh, no, poor baby et cetera. She then pranced over to the hubs and gave him another tale of woe complete with slumped shoulders, upraised palms and exaggerated facial expressions.

Every time I turn around today, she's right on my heels, telling me all about the pirates who are invading the yard, RIGHT NOW, or about the large storm coming, or how she thinks her arm is broken, or some other drama filled scenario.

My own flair for drama, repackaged and returning to my life with a vengence. I really AM a pain in my own butt. Huh.