I once drove with my neighbor and her kids to the repair shop to pick up my car that was being fixed. As we were driving, I noticed how quiet it was in the van. So I asked her if her kids were sick. She answered no and wondered why I was asking. I told her that the only time that Samuel is quiet in the car is when he's sick or asleep. Our normal drives sound a little like this:
Hey, mom, what time is it?
When will it be 3:30?
Why is the sun so hot?
Because it is a very hot star.
Can I touch it sometime?
No, it's too hot.
How do you spell hot?
What about sun?
What does P-I-W-R spell?
Nothing. That's not really a word.
Wouldn't it be neat if the trees would turn colors all day long?
What do you mean, honey?
Well, they would change from purple to pink to orange to white, all day long.
That would be cool.
Why do you get buried underneath the ground when you die?
It's just your old body that gets buried. But you will get a new one when you get to heaven.
When will you die?
Hopefully, not for a long time.
Can I die before you? That way, I'll never be without you. Mom, I think that when I grow up, I want to live right across the street from you and be your neighbor. That's a good idea, right?
I'd love that, honey.
I'm pretty smart, aren't I?
I think you're the smartest boy in the whole world.
More than you?
I'm afraid so.
These conversations happen daily on our way to preschool. Thankfully, it's a 10 minute drive. But I have a feeling when my car is finally quiet and my kids are grown, I'll long for the noise.