When your sons are young, it seems like you will never have peace and quiet. They're incessant talking machines with a boundless fount of energy and they're loud.
And then they grow up. And conversation--especially on the telephone is exactly like the picture above. Only I'm pretty sure that the dog is having a longer conversation that I usually do.
There are a few exceptions... Mother's Day. Christmas. The day after my son survived a tornado. The day after the older son survived a car crash. But mostly... mostly they act as though they've lost use of those mouths that used to give me a migraine.
Occasionally, one of them will shock me by having a fairly lengthy conversation and I'll wonder if they're sick or in jail or something equally disastrous. When I query them, there's always this aura of innocence. "I just thought I'd give you a call and talk."
Uh-huh. Like I believe that. Something's going on. I'm a mother. I know these things.