Your Presence is Requested, but Unnecessary

My daughter loves to talk. She's six, so this is entirely normal.

The other day, I went outside by myself to get the mail.  Had I been a wounded zebra on the Serengeti, I might have stood a better chance against the cheetah like reflexes of my child. She bounded after me, already starting a conversation before she was in earshot. 

"And I remember the time Veronica and I were on a field trip and we picked berries and slid down the slide but I didn't get to go on the swings because we ran out of time.  That made me sad so..." she made it to my hand and took hold.

This field trip was roughly six weeks ago. 

"Can I walk with you?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Can I give you kissee?" she asked.
I offered my cheek and was nearly strangled by her joy.

"Can I have a play date with Veronica? She's my best friend.  We had a party for all the summer birthdays and she brought in donuts and even though I don't like those kind of donuts very much, I had one because she's my best friend and I didn't want her to have sad feelings so I ate it and it was actually pretty good and maybe I like it better than any other donuts I've tasted but I haven't tasted every donut in the world.  Have you Mom?"

"No. I haven't."
"What's your favorite donut?  I'll get the mail."  She sprints to the mailbox.
"I like lots of kinds, but I'm starting to really like Sour Cream Cake."
"Sour Cream! YUCK! I don't think I'd like that Mommy.  You like a lot of weird foods.  I don't like weird foods. Because they're weird. I like pasta but not macaroni and cheese. I like cheese pizza but not grilled cheese. And I like ice cream.  That's yummy. Ice cream is the best. Can we get ice cream today? Maybe shakes?  Can I have a chocolate shake with whip cream but no cherry. I don't like them." 
"No."
"That's okay. I'm not hungry right now. Because I just had the best lunch.  Do you know what I had for lunch? I had a yogurt and a banana and juice and two pieces of bread with butter and a cookie.  I also had a toaster strudel even though it wasn't time for breakfast."
"I'd be ful--"
"I think we should go biking. Can I go to the park and go biking? I need you to take off the training wheels because the back wheel doesn't touch the ground. I want to help take them off. I'm good with tools and I think it would be fun."

As a mom, sometimes it is a season to listen, and sometimes to talk, but in my six year old's life, I'm not even sure the listening is required.  I'm more of a tree or a diary, not so much an audience as an accessory or decorative flourish, enjoyed but not required. 

She bounds off towards her bike, still talking. "What do you think MOMMY?" she shouts back.
I don't know what to think. I missed that last part. "I'm not sure." I bluff.
"I was telling you that Veronica says she likes me because I'm a good listener. Can she come over? Can I have a play date?"

"Yes."  I say, mentally trying to remember where the school directory is so I can make the call.  
"Yippee! You're the Best BEST BESTEST MOMMY!" and she comes over for another one of those strangling hugs with super smooches. 

I go inside to make the call thinking that while I could listen to her forever, it is good to call in a reliever.