I'll leave it to you to decide which of us Amandas is the most amazing conversationalist.

I'm not a chatter. I find it extremely difficult and awkward to sustain conversation without a specific goal in mind.

For instance, this is what I consider a successful conversation...

Me: What time is dinner?

Somebody: Seven o' clock.

Me: Thanks!

By contrast, this kind of conversation is a challenge ...

Somebody: Hi! I haven't seen you in sooooo long! How ARE you?

Me: Umm. Great. Or OK. OK, yeah. Do you mean today or in general?

Somebody: Today ... I guess.

Me: Today I'm ... uh, really stressed actually. Billy has therapy and I have three freelance assignment due this week and I think Willow may have an ear infection.

Somebody: Well ... that sounds .... GREAT TO SEE YOU! (scurries away)

OK, I'm exaggerating a bit. I have no problem talking with my family or close friends. But outside that very limited circle, I get nervous and I either talk too much or too little and no matter how innocuous the conversation, I replay it over and over again in my head later and analyze just how stupid I sounded and how much the person in question is probably currently making fun of me to lots of other people that we both know.

Did you ever see the movie Trainspotting? You know the scene where the guy goes to a job interview on speed? That's me at any given party setting without any chemical enhancements. Either I'm maniacally over-talkative, or I spend most of the night in the bathroom, texting people.

The telephone is the worst. I am not exaggerating when I say that I have an actual phobia of talking on the phone. I truly truly hate it and will avoid talking on it at all costs. Love email. Love texting – now that I've figured out how to do it. Even like Skyping, because I can see people's faces and don't have to wonder whether or not they're rolling their eyes or frowning in confusion as we talk.

My idea of a SUCCESSFUL phone conversation...

Dominoes guy: Dominoes! Hello, Mr. Broadfoot (they see David's name on their caller ID).

Me: Large Supreme pizza, please.

Dominoes guy: We have a special--

Me: LARGE SUPREME PIZZA, PLEASE!!

Dominoes guy: Are you still at 18--

Me: YES! (hang up)

I know that I'm unlikely to screw up a phone conversation with the Dominoes guy. Anything more open-ended will probably involve lots of awkward silences until one or the other of us claims to smell something burning in order to end it.

All of this does, believe it or not, have a point. As the mother of an autistic child (who was clearly genetically predisposed to have some social communication challenges), I've had to learn to narrate my life. All Billy's speech therapists and teachers tell us that it's important to talk to Billy ALL THE TIME about what's going on in his world all around us: as we drive in the car, as we walk to school, as we play and eat and bathe and --

That is just not me. Until I had kids, I spent most of my day in complete peaceful silence. One thing that makes Dave and I perfect for each other is that we have easy silences. And when we do talk, it's about something: the kids, politics, literature, how much bread and beer we have left. Important stuff.

On the walk to school, for instance: When Dave walks him to school, it's apparently a non-stop adventure. They look out for quicksand and climb the “highest hill” (a slight bump on the sidewalk) and barely escape the Jungle of Prickles (someone's overgrown yard).

When it's my turn, I really try. But you know it's bad when my autistic son is much better at suggesting conversation topics than I am. I mostly just warn him, agree and point at things.

WALKING TO SCHOOL

Me: Billy, look both ways before crossing the street.

Billy: Look out! It's the Jungle of Prickles!

Me: A jungle? Where? (Spotting neighbor glaring at us from overgrown yard.) Oh, well, maybe they haven't had a chance to mow their lawn recently.

Billy: We made it! Over the highest hill!

Me: Watch your step--

Billy: It's nice to see Christmas.

Me: Yes! It IS nice to see Christmas decorations every there. Look! They have a ... plastic baby Jesus in their yard. Sleeping in a magazine rack. And he lights up.

Billy: It's Joseph. And Mary. Mary cuts your hair!

Me: Argh.

But I'm trying. If I'm going to ask my son to step outside his comfort zone every day, to make eye contact, to smile, to greet people, I can at least make an effort to be slightly more interesting to a four-year-old.