Why do I always forget how many questions a three-year-old can ask in one day...until I have a three-year-old? I wish I had prepared myself for the barrage.
After ten hours of interrogation yesterday, I nearly cracked. Here is a sampling of our latest conversations. My thoughts are in italics.
#5: Why can you drive?
Me: Because I'm a grown-up.
#5: And grown-ups can drive?
#5: Then where is Grandpa?
Me: That was random. At work.
#5: What does he do there?
Me: He works.
Finally, while he was watching me make dinner yesterday, I saw how he had trapped me with his constant questions.
Me (after answering the latest question): ...and please don't ask me any more questions. I can't answer anymore right now.
Me (not realizing I was about to answer a question I had just asked him not to pose): Because I just can't... or my brain will explode. I'll still talk to you, but no more questions.
#5: Okay. This is not a question. I just will tell you something. Could you...?
My brain: KABOOM!!!
Luckily, my solution came today in the form of a two-year-old that I babysit during the school year. She and #5 were sitting behind me in the van, which is usually prime questioning time for #5. But guess who bore the brunt of the attack?! She did! I literally breathed a sigh of relief when I realized I could ignore the babbling because none of it was directed at me. And she, being two, just responds to all his questions by repeating the last few words, so #5 feels satisfied that someone is listening intently, even if she doesn't answer anything. I LOVE IT!