Getting interrogated
About a decade ago, I remember observing people with young kids complain that the kid was asking too many questions. Some even yell at the kid to keep quiet. I cringed whenever I observed a child’s inate curiosity being crushed. It’s a child’s purview to ask as many questions as she desires and that’s how she would learn about the world around her and eventually do great things.
I still support this philosophy. In theory. In practice I’m ready to snap! My four and half year old Darling Angel’s inquiries are transitioning from Questions to Interrogations. And they’re mostly concentrated during the 15 minute drive home from the daycare. Every question must be answered…to her satisfaction. And every advice must be accepted with thanks or declined with reasons.
Did you like milk when you were a baby? Did you drink a lot of milk or a little milk? Did you drink it all the time? Did your great great grandmother feed you? You liked custard? Was it baby custard? Before you started going to the office, did you go to school? Did you have any friends in school? What are your friends names? Did you play games with them? What type of games did you play? What else did you do? You read books? Which books did you read? Did you have birthdays? When you were little, did you have a cake at your birthday? Yesterday when it was your birthday, you didn’t have a cake. Why? You’re supposed to have a cake at your birthday, okay? Will you have a cake next time it’s your birthday because you’re supposed to have a cake? Did you have a sister a long time ago when you were a little girl? Yes, I know aunty is your sister, but what about when you were a little girl? (Getting frantic) I know, but I’m talking about a long long time ago. Oh, she’s still your sister when you were a little girl? Who else was your sister when you were a little girl?
I feel tired. I feel like I need to mentally recover from my day at work. And ignoring the questions is not an option because it just gets repeated over and over at increasingly higher pitches (until it turns into a cry). It’s even worse when Baby Brother is whimpering in his seat as she just speaks louder to compensate. So far, I rein in my impulse to yell for some quiet. And I patiently (I pray for more patience) answer every single question…to her satisfaction.
