Whyyy?

Somewhere in the world there is a book called "Things So Embarrassing You Shouldn't Publicize Them." And in that book is the following entry:

Once upon a time there was a mother who got bronchitis. Mothers aren't supposed to get sick. But this one did. This mother felt so sick on Friday afternoon that she wasn't able to give her children a bath. The children asked to be bathed. One even cried. She insisted that her hair smelled bad and needed to be washed. The Mother suggested perfume to mask the smell, but only because the smell didn't even exist.

Dolce&Gabbana, making kids happy since 1985.

But that totally fictional story took place last week. This week is going to be much different. Not because Mommy is ready to run a marathon, but because Mommy's brain is finally unfogged enough to realize that baths are a good idea.

Recently I was a part of an online discussion in which one friend of mine asked how often kids should be bathed. Most of the other mothers responded that obviously every kid is bathed every night. So I did a little research and came up with the following fascinating statistic:

80% of things posted online are a stretch of truth. Basically, we're all a little more Motherly than we'd like to admit. The reasons for the, uh, exaggerations among Those With Kids include not wanting to disappoint their own mothers (does that last forever?) and mothers not wanting to be judged by friends who are mothers themselves.

So why do we keep asking each other all these questions? I think it must be because we are ingrained, as children, to ask ask ask ask ask ask ask ask ask.

My oh-so-soon-to-be four-year old has graduated from simply asking me WHY (repeatedly, with a staggering increase in vocal intensity) to asking questions that require more thinking than I am usually interested in attempting.

How come you went to school when you were sick and I have to stay home when I am sick? 

How come you didn't let me come to your wedding? Did you leave me with a babysitter? I DON'T WANT A BABYSITTER!!

Why can't you give me a big sister? My friend has one. I want a big sister. Could that also be my birthday present? I really just need a big sister for the bus.

Why did you call me a love bug if bugs are ewy?

But Mommy....whyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?

Granted, I could simply tell her that I feel worse for her teachers than I do for my students, remind her that she wasn't born yet at my wedding, give her a quick lesson on Family Biology, and explain to her just how clingy love bugs are. But somehow I think that would just get me a tried-and-true, super whiny WHY?

There are all sorts of WHY questions. Some worse than others. My girls already know that some WHYs from me are really a suggestion for them to come up with a really believable story for their latest misdemeanor. These usually start with, "WHY IN THE WORLD?" and "Why? WHY? What were you thinking?" I don't know why I'm asking for insight into their logical deductions. I should know better by now.

The other WHYs from me are super focused. And usually warn my big girl that I'm going to sit and come up with various ways of asking the exact same questions (hey, props to me for not simply repeating the same thing over and over again) to find out what, if anything, she has learned in school. "Well, why did he do that?" "Can you remember why that happened?" "Why would that happen?" "Why did he decide that?" "Helllooo, why are pretending that your toys are more interesting than my pop quiz?" I'm gonna need to learn to lighten up before she gets into serious school or I'll be getting the WHY calls from her teachers.

Update on the WHYS from my girls: not all send me hunting down the nearest exit sign (which, by the way, is the same as the entrance sign and so I never quite make it far.)

"Want to know why I love you Mommy? Should I tell you why? Because you are six years old, and 'cause you are so cute, and 'cause you are my yum-bum, and 'cause you share your makeup with me (Guys, I can explain!), and 'cause you play with me and color with me, and 'cause you smile at me, and did I eat lunch already? 'Cause my stomach feels like it has space for food right over here."

And that's my cue.