Driving Me Crazy

I have often used the expression "driving me crazy" when referring to certain behaviours my offspring seem inclined to engage in; however, after a 4-hour trip in the car, the expression gained literal value.

Who knew a 3-year-old could talk for 4 hours straight? And that every single utterance would require some sort of acknowledgment or response from me? Grunts or noncommittal answers did not count. "What you say? I didn't hear you, mom!"

I have never in my life so keenly felt the need for peace and quiet. I just wanted to be able to form a complete thought in my head without being interrupted to explain why I didn't see whatever that was out the window. Or to answer a string of loosely related questions that all began with WHY? Or to sing another song. "Why you stop, mom? Is that the end? Let's start again!" A personal favourite with the singing is the request for a song I've never heard of.

"Can you sing the mouse water song?"
"I don't know that one."
"The mouse water one. Sing it!"
"How does it go?"
"The mouse in the water... okay? Sing it now."
"I still don't know it. You sing it."
"No! I want you to sing it. Sing the mouse water song. (pause) Mom? Why aren't you singing?"

I asked for a brief reprieve. I pretended my mouth was tired and needed to stop talking for a bit. That didn't work. I said I needed to concentrate so we didn't get lost. That prompted a whole new line of questioning about whether or not we were going the right way. I thought she might sleep, but no. So I continued to answer questions, then explain my answers in excrutiating detail, repeat myself over and over, sing songs, pretend to see things out the window, and generally keep up a non-stop form of chatter all the way home, and like the little pig, at times, I too, felt like crying.