Children have a remarkable knack for sucking all adult attention out of the air and centering it upon tehemselves. This is especially true if the child in question happens to be very small and extremely talkative.
My young friend, Eria, is audible 100% of the time she is awake, which makes her very easy to find and nearly impossible to ignore. If she’s not talking, she sings or hums to herself. If no one is available to answer her questions, she’ll ask them of herself and make up the answers. Many of her questions are untraceable in origin and oddly enough, many of the answers she invents involve either chinchillas or Flying Space Monkeys, the only two things in which she really, heartfeltedly, believes.
Roughly 70% of Eria’s questions are rooted in genuine curiosity, but an easy 30% seem designed specifically to promote more conversaton and keep the noise burbling along at a constant minimum volume.
Yesterday, needing a moment of quiet to use for thinking, fixing a boat, and just remembering what the outdoors sounds like, unpunctuated by four-and-a-half-year-old musings and demands, Eria’s mum asked her to go inside for a bit of quiet time.
“Okay,” said Eria, “But first I have to ask you something, mommy.”
“Yes, Eria? What do you have to ask me?” said mommy, wondering what pressing curiosity the outdoors might have inspired in her.
“Mommy, what do lawyers do?”
Befriend: