Zoey has a new favorite word.
Why.
And while I respect and encourage her inquisitive nature, it can sometimes become frustrating when my explanations are met with further questioning. This evening, the four of us went out for a walk and Zoey saw a bird fly overhead.
Zoey: Can I fly?
Ella: No.
Zoey: When I get bigger and bigger and bigger?
Me: No.
Zoey: Why?
Ella: Because you don't have wings.
Zoey: Why?
Me: Because you're descended from apes.
Ella: Don't tell her that.
Me: Why?
Ella: You don't need to teach her about evolution yet.
Me: So when is the proper age to broach the subject of evolution?
Zoey: Mommy!
Ella: Yes, Zoey?
Zoey: Why can't I fly?
Ella: Because you're not a bird.
Me: Some insects fly, too.
Zoey: Why can't I fly?
Me: Because you don't have wings.
Zoey: Can I grow wings?
Me: No.
Zoey: Why?
Me: Because you're a person.
Zoey: Can I make some wings?
Me: Yes. But you still won't be able to fly.
Zoey: I want to fly!
Me: Zoey, since the dawn of time, man has looked lovingly at the sky, jealous of the winged crea-
Ella: Look, Zoey! A mud puddle!
Ella is always scolding me for giving Zoey too much information, as she likes to put it. Ella believes these things should be brought up at a later time, when Ella thinks Zoey's old enough to comprehend them. But since Ella hasn't given me a copy of this timeline, I'm at a loss. So I introduce topics to my daughter as the need arises. Like last night, when we had a discussion on intoxication, albeit brief.
A moped drove by our car.
Zoey: What's that?
Ella: A moped.
Zoey: A no-pad?
Me: Mo-ped.
Zoey: Mo-ped.
Ella: Good job.
Zoey: Why is he riding a mo-pad?
Me: Mo-ped.
Zoey: Why is he riding a moped?
Me: Because he drank too much. (This wasn't some EcoDude driving a Vespa. This was some guy driving a crappy moped that would've been jealous of my weed eater's engine.)
Ella: Chag!
Zoey: Why did he drink too much?
Me: He's probably married.
Ella: Don't listen to Daddy, honey.
Zoey: Why was he driving that thing?
Me: Because the police caught him.
Zoey: With a net?
Ella: Look, Zoey! A big yellow truck!
That's Ella's m.o.: when the conversation becomes a little too adult, she pulls out the "look, a shiny object" routine. Sorry, but if Zoey asks me a question, I answer it truthfully. I don't make up some story or pretend I didn't hear her or change the subject if the answer's not age-appropriate. Nor do I dumb it down for her. I speak to Zoey as I would an adult. I was never one to say, "Does Zoey-Woey want to ride her bikey-wikey?" Which is why strangers often comment, "Boy she sure does talk good [sic]." Yes, she does. Would you like her to give you lessons?
Sometimes we go through so many levels of whys, I forget what we were originally talking about. And I don't know if it's because I've been whyed to death lately or if I'm going through some sort of midlife crisis, but I have a lot of whys lately as well. So let me float the following questions out in the ether:
- Why can my daughter disrobe faster than a teenage boy prior to his first time and put on and take off various princess outfits with the greatest of ease throughout the day, but cannot seem to put her pants and panties back on after she's used the bathroom? She dresses herself at school after she uses the bathroom. Why can't she do it at home? I tell her to put on her clothes and she just stares at them like I've just given her a Rubik's Cube to solve (and yes, I realize I'm showing my age with that reference). And why does it seem the later we are for something, the harder it is for her to dress herself?
- Why has my taste in music gone to pot? There was a time when my indie cred rivaled that of any NYC hipster. Now? I find myself listening to top-40 radio and singing along (ugh!) to dreck like The Pussycat Dolls, The Black Eyed Peas, and Kelly Clarkson. Am I just getting old? Or is that after spending my days listening to sappy songs sung by purple dinosaurs, muppets, and various animated creatures, that anything remotely adult-sounding is a welcome change? Or is it a combination of the two?
- Why are there no diaper stations in most men's rooms or, if there are, why are they always in the handicapped stall? Are they passing judgement on me?
- Why is it that both children can perform things effortlessly one hundred times in a row when it's just Ella and I around, but when we try to get them to perform their latest tricks for someone else, they look at us like we're speaking Latin? Case in point: Zed's sitting up like a champ now but when I went to show his trick to my Mom last week, he acted like his head was a 2,000-pound lead weight. Why?
- Why are you still reading this?
GHS: 0 (but Ella might have a few after the intoxication discussion)
