So Many Questions

I'm sitting on our balcony, having "quiet time." I feel guilty about it. Poor J just keeps coming to the window, and staring out, hoping to come out with me. "No, J, I'm having 'quiet time.' It's the only time all day when I'll sit somewhere quietly. Stay inside, and I'll be in in a minute."

I love him more than life, but my son talks all the time. Or at least it seems like it. On the way to school the other morning, he was (you guessed it) talking -- mainly asking questions. I hung my sunglasses over the rear-view mirror as we drove through a shady part of the road, and he said, "Mom, why did you hang your sunglasses there?"

"J! Why do you ask SO MANY QUESTIONS?"

Without a second thought, he said, "It's my passion!"

S's favorite phrase to describe J's questions is, "Can I have? Can I go? Can I do?"

I wonder sometimes if I sound like that to God?

Image: View from the balcony.