That's my name. Don't wear it out.

I took Owen to the eye doctor recently.  A special fancy-dancy one that probably won't be covered by insurance and is located an hour away.  We drove there, Owen and I, and chatted along the way.

"Mom?  What does that sign mean?"

"It means you can't turn left at this street right now."

"Mom?  Why do some people think that green is red and red is green?"

"Um.  You mean with the streetlights?  I guess maybe they weren't paying attention."

"But they were."

"Well then I don't know."

"Mom?  Who would win in a race between the sun, rain, and snow?"

"What?  I don't . . . even understand that question."

"Mom? Sometimes the snow falls into the rain, right?  Right?"

"Mom?"

"Mom?"

"Mom?"

"Hey, buddy, you know what?  You don't have to say 'Mom' every time you say something.  Because it's just you and me in the car.  I'm going to go ahead and assume your are talking to me."

"Okay." 

. . . 

"Mom?"