The ride home

Wednesdays are big around here. For one thing, it's the one day each week that the boys get to spend with their Giga.

Oh, how they love their Giga.

But for another thing, Wednesdays are guaranteed late nights, the day just overflowing because of school for both boys, then the rush to get after-school work done in time to get to church for Awana.

Hump day, she's a long one.

But a good one.

You would think that with all of this activity, the boys would be zombies by the time we finally crawl into the darkness and comfort of the car after Awana is over.

Um, no.

It seems their time spent at church kickstarts their second (third? fourth?) winds, and they just come alive, endlessly inquisitive and fully ready to overshare.

And so I spend thirty minutes going back and forth between each boy, responding to whatever they have said or asked. A vast majority of the time, while I am in mid-answer to one boy, the other one is already taking his turn at speaking.

Complicating the situation is Trey's tendency to monopolize conversation. So when Aden believes Trey has taken more than his share of time to talk, Aden just starts repeating, "Mama? Mama? Mama? Mama? Mama? Trey, hush! Mama? Mama?" until Trey reaches over and slugs him.

And then should Trey attempt to interrupt Aden during his speech, Aden goes supersonic, and just shouts whatever he was saying before being interrupted. Should Trey try again, Aden gives him a swift kick to the shins.

Such is the importance to them of communicating with their Mama, that they will resort to violence in the competition for my attention. It's sweet. In a weird, brother-brutality kind of way.

There is so much to tell and ask on a Wednesday night. Enough that by the time we get home I have lost some of my voice. Every week, guaranteed.

We bond a lot in that half hour, my boys and me. A loud, precious whirlwind.