One thing you must know about our first child is that he is a talker. He has something to say about everything and he has the voice to express it; deep and loud. But I mention this fact only to provide some contrast to the story I am going to tell. This post is not about him and the airspace he takes up.This one is about my other talker, the less loud one. The whisperer; B, who has things to say but you have to stop and listen. There are times during the day where I do not know where B is. She can be that quiet in this little house. I look through the house hoping that she hasn't filled the bathroom sink with water and then washed all of her play dishes in it, meanwhile pouring water all over the floor and wiping up the spill with 100 kleenex which are then thrown into the toilet. Thankfully, most of the time, when I do find her, she is playing in some corner (or behind the Christmas tree last month) with this or that little doll or animal and whispering in her play. Whispering so faintly she is hard to hear. Her stories seem elaborate with lots of dialogue, multiple props and fantastical ideas. Today's story took place in plain view, by the spice cabinet. Her props were spice jars and mixing bowls and the cast; two friends, cat and frog.