Bring Back Big Families

Sometimes, my life feels like one, (very) long Q&A session. The questions, small as they may be, come hot and heavy from the first moments the kids are awake in the morning until the last moments before they go to bed.

What’s for breakfast?

What time is it?

Why do I have to get dressed?

Who is in the bathroom?

Where are my shoes?

What time is it?

Why can’t I read this book right now?

Why don’t we have cinnamon rolls?

Which monster truck is this?

What time is it?

Where is my jacket?

How come he gets to wear those socks?

Why did you pick this shirt for me?

What time is it?

What’s this monster truck’s name?

What time is it?

Yes, I realize I put the, “What time is it?,” and, “What’s this monster truck’s name?,” questions on the list multiple times each. That’s actually a moderate estimation for the typical morning. My three-year-old has taken a liking to time recently and wants to know roughly every 47 seconds what time it is and every 59 seconds what this monster truck’s name is. I don’t know why exactly he has latched on to time as he has, but, aside from monster truck questions, he has to know what time it is at all times.

And this is just the morning questions from them. The questions from us can get quite voluminous and quite ridiculous sometimes.

Can you please just eat your breakfast?

Why aren’t you sitting down?

Why are you sitting on top of your brother?

Is it time for reading right now?

Why haven’t you brushed your teeth yet?

Where is your backpack?

Why are your shoes there?

Where did you throw your socks?

Why are you licking that box?

Why do you have underwear on your head?

Is that supposed to be in your mouth?

Questions, questions, questions. They come from every angle and cover every topic imaginable. They’re endless. From and to.

And that’s just the morning. We haven’t even cracked into the evening yet. But let’s, shall we?

Can we go outside?

What’s for dinner?

What if I don’t want to eat that?

Why do I have to eat that?

Why does she get to sit there?

Can we watch a movie?

Can we go outside?

What time is it?

What’s this monster truck’s name?

Can I play on my tablet?

Can we go outside?

Why do I have to drink all of my water?

Why did you give me that for a drink?

Where is momma?

Why is momma there?

Why can’t we play ball in the house?

Can we go outside?

What time is it?

Is dinner ready yet?

Where are my pajamas?

Where is my toothbrush?

Why does he get to play with that?

Can we go outside?

No, we can’t go outside!

Oh, wait. Sorry. Reflexes sometimes kick in.

Just writing these questions has left me too exhausted to list the questions I have to ask them at the end of the day. Questions, questions, questions, so many questions.

Which leaves me wondering (question incoming): am I going to miss this?

Answer (I actually have one): absolutely.

I know it’s chaos. I know it fries my nerves. I know I get frustrated answering questions literally all day long (I answer questions all day long for my students, too). I know I (somewhat) cherish my twenty minutes of relative peace to and from work everyday because I know my wife doesn’t get that (I only say somewhat because I’m still going to work). I know that the inundation of questions frays every last neuron that’s left in my overcooked brain at the end of every day.

But, when there are no longer little mouths to ask endless questions each day, when the only sound I hear at the beginning, middle, and end of each day is the clock ticking reminding me that time has slipped right through my hands with my kids, well, I don’t know what that’s going to be like. And, part of me doesn’t want to know.

I know it’s a cliché answer. But sometimes cliché answers are the best answers. I know I will miss this.

Luckily for me, I’ve got at least eighteen more years of little questions left. On top of that, I know I have a lot of big questions left to answer when they’re too big for little questions.

In the end, questions do, admittedly, make me happy, no matter how strenuous they may be in the moment, because it reminds me that they still trust me enough to give them the answers, even if I don’t always have them. And I hope they always know that their dad will always try to answer them, even when he doesn’t know the answer.

Thinking more broadly, by answering as many of their little questions as I can, I will hopefully be able to teach them and remind them to turn to the one who actually has all of the answers to the big questions that I can’t give them.

What about you? What kinds of questions do your kids ask? Are they as endless as the ones from my kids? Which ones will you miss the most?

(See what I did there?)