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!
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.)
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!