For the past 20-something years my daughters have been questioning me.
You know how it goes…it begins with those cute phrases in the toddler years:
“Waz tat?” “Whrd it go?” “Why?” “Why not?”
…but soon enough it escalates to…
Why is the sky blue?
Who knows! it!
- Why can’t I stay up?
Because I’M tired
How can you ground me from the ice cream truck for the WHOLE summer?!
Because I’m the mom
- What’s for dinner?
- What do you mean you’re not making dinner?
- Do you love that cat more than you love me?
Wait. Is that a rhetorical question?
- Why do I have such a short torso?!
(She answered this one herself)…
“It’s YOUR fault that I have such a short torso!
YOU have a short torso! This is not fair!”
- Why CAN’T my friends drink here?
‘Cause I’m a good mom.
- Why can’t we order my senior pictures?
Because we’re poor right now and I spent way to much money on your sister’s pictures. She IS the first-born you know.
- I want to have kids someday, but what if they’re ugly?
I survived it. You will to.
- Should I be an organ donor? (sent via text)
Yes. Why are you asking me this right now?!
- How long do I boil an egg?
This from the daughter with a 4 year degree from a university that cost more than any house I’ll ever live in.
The list goes on and on…The questioning continues.
The answers get more complicated.
I can handle complicated. I’m a mom.
I’m a teacher to; I’m ok with questions. I expect questions. I encourage questions.
(Well, as long as you raise your hand)
The questions I get from my kindergarten kiddos can easily be found in a textbook. Somewhere.
So who’s got the answer key for all those other questions?