My children constantly barrage me with questions. They range from the easy (how can you love us all the same?) to the impossible (what happens after we die?) to the unpleasant (but how did I get in your tummy?) All day, every day, I answer their questions like it’s my job. OK, so I guess it is my job. Today, though, I have some questions of my very own…
Why is it that you can build towers with perfect precision, yet are incapable of aiming into the toilet?
Why do you put up a fight every single night at bedtime? Is it really that bad to lay down on a comfortable bed and peacefully fall asleep?
Why do you insist on walking up the stairs leaving a trail of grubby fingerprints all over the wall? It’s called a banister. Please use it.
Why do you lust after a toy belonging to a friend, but when the toy is purchased for you, suddenly you lose interest?
Why must you pick your nose and wipe the findings along the walls? If you can’t find a tissue, use your sleeves. They’re good enough for me.
Why are you suddenly dying of thirst the moment I have poured a drink for myself and had a seat?
Why do you act like having your toenails cut is torture? It’s called a pedicure, for crying out loud.
Why can you never agree on the same movie, which you all love, at any given time?
Why do you fuss about brushing your teeth before school? Do you really not mind that nasty morning breath?
Why do you love ketchup but think tomato sauce is “disgusting”?
Why can’t you ever just ignore your siblings when they are taunting you? If you do, they will stop. I promise.
Why do you wrestle on the couch when 99.9% of the time, it ends in tears and hysterics? Do you not remember? Do you enjoy getting hurt?
Why is volume control such a difficult concept for you to understand? I CAN HEAR YOU!!!
Why do you pick the most annoying books in the universe? Don’t you realize that reading about Transformers and Cars makes me want to skip pages and stab myself in the eye?
Why do you have to jump in every puddle you see?
Why do you insist on stating my name a dozen times before actually asking a question?
Why is it that you do endless laps around the house like a possessed demon, but when I ask you to help clean up, you’re suddenly reduced to a ball of mush who can no longer walk?
Why, children, why???
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