Of the actual conversations going on at my house. Nonstop. All day. Every day. Pass the wine.
Weenut: “What are you doing?”
Me: “Changing your sheets.”
Me: “Because they are dirty.”
Weenut: “But why are they dirty?”
Me: “Because they just get dirty. You’ve been sick and they have germs on them.”
Weenut: “Oh… How do they get germs on them?”
Me (in my head): “For the love of god. Make it stop.”
Weenut: “How do they get germs on them?”
Me: fantasizing about a cone of silence surrounding me
Weenut: “Mom!How do they get germs on them?”
Me: “Because they just stick to them.”
Weenut: “But why do they just stick to them?”
Me: “They just do!”
In the car
Weenut: “What’s that pig doing?” Pointing to one of the “flying pig” charity art pieces outside his window.
Weenut: “But why is he flying?”
Me: “Because that’s just what that pig does.”
Weenut: “Oh…What is that place where the pig is?”
Me: “An office building.”
Weenut: “What’s an office building?”
Me: “It’s somebody’s work.”
Weenut: “Who works there?”
Me: “I don’t know, just people.”
Weenut: “Oh…Why do they got to go to work?”
Me: “Because that’s just what grownups do!”
And on and on down the road.
I know, I know, he is just bright and curious and trying to learn and synthesize all this information about the world around him. But Mother of God, it’s hard to hear yourself think when you’re under a constant barrage of questions. Forget waterboarding. Let’s put terrorists in a room full of inquisitive preschoolers and see how long it takes before they break.