Inquisition

I remember having questions as a kid. All sorts of questions, like:
Why is it called cheese?
How do birds know how to chirp?
Does everyone know how to whistle?
Where does snow come from?
Why isn't rain the same as snow?
What does the brain look like?
Why is it my bedtime?
Will I wear glasses?
What makes the sun rise?
Why do cats pee inside and dogs pee outside?
Blah blah blah blah....

I now have a sneaking suspicion that I may have asked my mother all of those questions in addition to about forty million more. Why do I suspect this? Because my darling daughter never stops talking. She has question upon question upon question. I love that she is curious. I love that she is exploring her world. I empathize with her need to dissect and understand her world, but I would do anything, anything to just have a moment of silence.

Mama....MAMA!
What is a state?
What rhymes with giraffe?
Why do I have to wipe?
Who makes mushrooms?
How do trees talk to each other?
What is a stranger?
Is she a stranger?
Why are we always late?
How do we get boogers?
Why can't I dip my hotdog in yogurt?
Do I have to wear my coat?
What's my breath smell like?
Do you know who my best friend is?
What's your favorite color?
Do you know my favorite color?
Does Daddy have a favorite color?
Who is Gramma's gramma?
Why do I have to wash my hands?
What are cavity bugs?
Where is the North Pole?
Do you know who I love from The Sound of Music?
How do flowers grow?
Why can't I have a treat out of orange bowl?
What is healthier salami or grapes?

And that, my friends, is just one tenth of the amount of questions that I am asked every day.

And it's shocking about how many times I really have to think about what the answers are.