I hear “why” a lot.  Mostly from Bug.  It’s generally never a why like “why is the sky blue mama?”  No his why’s are all weirdly specific and complicated things.  Like “why did they paint that house blue?”  Short of walking up to the door of said house and asking the people living there the reason for their color choice I have no way to answer that question.  Of course this isn’t acceptable to Bug.  No if I try and tell him they choose that color because they liked it he’ll continue down the why road.  “Why do they like the color?”  “Why don’t they like another color?”  “Why that blue?”  Begging doesn’t stop this incoming cross examination.  Crying only makes him ask why you’re banging your head into the wall.  I mean, the kid is smart and he looks for loop holes in everything and he must have every last tiny detail of whatever has caught his fancy, but I may be the first mom who can’t wait for her kid to realize she’s not as smart as he thinks.


I do envy him though.  I’d love to be able to just keep saying why to get answers to questions that drive me batty.  Like, why is it when I finally sit down to eat my lunch my work phone and personal phone blow up?  And for the record, my personal phone is used a lot for work which means I can’t just ignore it.  Or why can I find the one small patch of mud in a parking lot, step in it and have it splash all over my pants leg?


Or why can’t I beat the first frigging boss in my video game when I’ve conquered far harder tasks in the video game world without breaking a sweat?  And please, why for the love of whatever God you believe in, can I download a book to my Kindle, read it a few times only to open it up again to find the smallest type setting is now large enough for  a person with limited sight to see every word?


I’d also love to know why my son never moves at a slower speed than coked up long distance runner until he’s right in front of me and I’m carrying his sister a bag, a purse and a coffee mug.  Oh, and how is it someone can know me for years and totally miss my addiction to coffee?  It’s not like I hide it.  I almost groan with joy with the first sip each morning and the first thing I do when walking into the office is switch the coffee pot on, which was prepared before I left the day before because I do not have time, patience or the ability for upper level thought to make it in the morning.


Why does the baby want to sleep later than the 4 year old?  And why does the 4 year old require me to wake up and speak with him?


Why can’t little elves break into my house and do my laundry while I sleep?


Why can’t I stop eating this 3lb bag of Hersey’s Candy Cane Kisses?


So, I envy Kyle and his complete lack of worry as he asks whatever why that pops into his head.  Because he refuses to accept a non answer to his machine gun fire why’s he always gets an answer of some sort.  I, on the other hand, have to just keep wondering why a size L from one store fits just fine while a L from another store fits as if it were made for pygmies .


And why the hell I just told the interworld my clothing size.


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