Talk About

Micah has been practicing his verbal skills a lot lately. I love it. He's been talking to everyone, and saying new words all the time. In fact, he's even started saying Mama. I've waited 7 years to hear my baby say Mama. Granted, it's more like UUUUMMHH but I'll take what I can get. It's a new word, and that makes me happy.

But his vocabulary still lacks a certain little something called volume control. When the boy talks, it's in his great big outdoor voice. He has two volumes; On and Off. When he's on, everyone hears him. When he plays with Woody, Woody feels the need to yell what he's saying to Buzz, who is just right there in Micah's other hand. When he's singing, it fills the entire van even though he's sitting in the way back. And when I'm trying to hold a conversation with Sam, we sometimes have to ask Micah to be quiet for a bit. This goes over as well as asking him to go to bed.

This is beginning to cause problems.

At Starbucks, Micah has decided that he'll order himself a  little something for the road as well. When I pull up to the drive-through order box and wind down my window (yes, we still have an old-fashioned handle in our 'Zuki), he'll wind his down as well. When I try to place my order, he has his head out the back window yelling his order as well. The poor barista simply cannot decipher what he wants, nor hear what I want over his volume. Problem. If Mama doesn't get her 'Bucks, the day could easily go downhill from there.

Many times I've been on the phone and had to rush from the room to try to get some quiet. Stepping into the laundry room generally doesn't help with the washer and dryer running, and if I lock myself in the restroom one of the kids will track me down and pound on the door, thereby giving my whereabouts away to the caller. Embarrasing. I've taken to stepping outside to get away from Mr. Loud Lungs, but inevitably the dogs are barking and I can't yell at them while on the phone. (My girls love me, they do.)

And then there was the day that I was on the phone, intently listening to the automated voice asking me to say which option I wanted. (Don't you love those new automated systems where you have to remember what to say instead of just holding up a finger of the corresponding number that you think might suit you best? By the time you get to the end of the options, you forget what it is you're to say and have to start over. Or is that just me?) Midway through the first speaking option Micah yelled in the next room. The automator picked up on it and quickly said, "I'm sorry, I didn't understand. Can you repeat that?" Micah did. This happened 3 times before I was able to escape out the French doors to the patio.

Speech is a beautiful thing, I'll be the first to admit. But there are gray clouds with every silver lining.