For some reason, my son likes to do most of his talking after he has been tucked into bed at night. He can be exhausted to the point of slurring his words beyond comprehension, yet he still has a million and one questions before he rolls over and closes his eyes.

His bedroom is on the second floor and located at the far corner of the house. My kitchen/office is on the first floor, and is located at the opposite corner from his room. So essentially, when he is in bed, and I am on the computer, or cooking or washing dishes, we are geographically as far apart as we can get in this house.....And yet, every night, after softly tip-toeing down the stairs, longing to dunk my hands into the warm soapy water (yes, even washing dishes can seem like a vacation sometimes), I hear the sleepy questions begin. "Is today Thursday? So that means tomorrow is Friday? Then Saturday? Then Sunday?....How many Tuesdays did we have to wait for Christmas? Why does Christmas come only once a year? Is Santa real or just in my dreams? Will I dream tonight? Is Disney the place where dreams really do come true? Remember when you put sunscreen on my skin at Disney and I screamed?....." You get the picture.

Now, honestly, I don't really dread the questions so much. They help me know what is important to him, and remind me what an amazing memory this kid has. And when I do get irritated, I try hard to remember the days when all he did was scream....when I was the one talking all day long, just to expose him to language, and give him a word for every object in his world...And then the day, driving in the car with both of my children asking questions to me at the same time with such a frenzy that for the very first time in his life I said, "Wynn, please quit talking."...and then had to catch my breath at the significance of that phrase, and how it meant we had reached a new level in this crazy journey....So, no I don't resent his questions.

However, I can't hear him very well while I'm in the kitchen, and when I do try to answer him, I've usually not heard the question correctly, and therefore give the wrong answer--which is quickly proceeded by his size 9 feet plodding across his bedroom floor, and stopping at the edge of the banister as he hollers back in reply. Which then means that I've got to dry off my hands, dash upstairs, proceed through all the nightly rituals again, and once back downstairs, try to answer the same question "the right way"!....After 12 hours "on call", so to speak, I'm not usually up to the challenge, and often end up just hanging around outside his door until he falls asleep.

But last night, my husband had a great idea. He brought out a wooden table, sat my daughter's new 1000 piece puzzle (quickly abandoned for beads and chapter books) and encouraged me to "just relax here by the fire and put together this puzzle.".....Grabbing a cup of hot tea, I was quickly absorbed in the task, but also discovered, to my shear joy, that I could sit down and do something relaxing, but also easily hear and answer correctly all of Wynn's questions. Puzzles require some skill and concentration, but one can usually have a conversation at the same time.....and I did. So, while connecting a bridge overlooking the Sydney Opera House, I also waxed eloquently about Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and tomorrows breakfast menu.
And one sleepy boy fell fast asleep with the weight of the world removed from his shoulders because each question was answered just right.