"Mom...."

Sam starts just about every sentence with, "mom," or "dad," his way of starting conversation.  And he likes to talk, all the time.  Really, all the time.

When we are in the car it's a constant, "mom."
Turn the music down to hear him.  "Yes, Sam."
Then he tells me what he sees ("I see a dump truck dumping it's load," or is thinking "it's hot out today," then finishes with, "I can't hear the music."
"Because I turned it down so we could talk."
Music goes back up.

The other day he must have run out of things to say.
"Mom."
Music goes down.
"Yes Sam."
"My hands and feet are still attached."
Pause.
"They were going to become unattached?"
"No, they're still attached."
"Okay, good."
"Mom."
"Yes Sam."
"I can't hear the music."
"Because you were telling me your hands and feet were still attached so I turned the music down."
Music goes up.  Sometimes the things that come out of my mouth are truly ridiculous.