What dreams are made of.

Emery is still thick in the “why” stage. After a year and a half, I’m not sure when it stops qualifying as a stage and instead becomes an annoying personality quirk. She asks “why?” at everything. Difficult things. Nonsensical things. Things with no answers. And it’s rapid fire with no time to think between questions. Straight up interrogation style.

Why is it raining? Because the trees and grass are thirsty.

Why are they thirsty? Because they need water to grow.

Why do they grow? Because that’s their job.

Why is that their jobs? Because that is what God made them to do.

Why did God make them? Because I said so, small child! Silence!

She may look sweet but she is relentless, I swear. Probably has a future in the CIA.

She may look sweet but she is relentless, I swear. Probably has a future in the CIA.

I knew yesterday was going to be a super fun day when Emery woke up at 5:50. In the morning. It’s obscene, really. I was overreacting and grouchy so I spent the three hours before preschool being pouty and avoiding any interrogations by small children. By the time we loaded in the Vdub for the 6 minute drive to school, I had finally consumed enough caffeine and decided to act as a parent and engage in an enriching, meaningful conversation with my 3-year-old.

I once read somewhere – probably on a Hallmark card – that the car is a great place to have meaningful conversations with your kids. Because a captive audience is the best audience, I suppose. Except I’m usually the one held captive to her incessant questioning. But they said it was what “good” parents do, so I oblige.

Emery, did you have any dreams last night?

Uhhh. Ummm. What is a dream? (She knows this but wastes no time. We only have 6 minutes, after all.)

Well, a dream is what happens when your body is asleep but your brain is making up stories.

Why does a brain make up stories?

Uh, it’s like you are using your imagination while you are sleeping.

But why is it using an imagination?

At this point, We’ve travelled less than a quarter of a mile and I know this conversation will go on forever – or at least until we get to preschool – so I decide to switch tactics and offer the most philosophical answer I can muster. Because Walt Disney was deep, you know.

Em, you know what? A dream is a wish your heart makes. When you’re fast asleep. (Pure poetic genius, right there.)

A wish? 

Yes, sweetie, a wish.

Last night I dreamed ’bout scary monsters. 


Errr. Uhh. Derr. Fail.

Thanks a lot, Cinderella. You keep talking to field mice because your insight on nocturnal brain activity blows.

Better luck next time!


12 thoughts on “What dreams are made of.

  1. Haha, oh geez! McKenzie asked me to tell a joke the other day, so I did the whole “Why did the chicken cross the road?” bit. She was not impressed…she was like, “Well was it a busy road? That wasn’t very safe of the chicken to do.” FAIL. Haha.

    • Josh’s brother bought Em a dinosaur joke book for Christmas. She keeps asking me to read it to her but doesn’t get the humor at all. Think – Why did the triceratops visit the doctor? Because he was dino-sore! And then I spend 10 minutes explaining the joke. It’s impossible to explain humor!

  2. I like “because that’s their job”…I need to use that one more often! Why is the red crayon red? Because that’s it’s job. Why is that boy a boy? Because that’s his job. I usually just throw up my hand and say “I don’t know??????”…

  3. Ha! I am cracking up. NOT looking forward to the “why” stage. And, of course, just when we think we are being awesome, smart, charming, philosophical parents we are put right back in our place. I think the effort involved has to count for something….right?

  4. Pingback: Poetic & Powerful | Catching Fireflies

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