My kids don't understand why I say, "I don't know," about a hundred times a day. Honestly, sometimes I do know the answer to their question but my brain is so damn tired it makes me say, "I don't know." And, sometimes I genuinely do not know the answers that my children are seeking. Like when my now 13 year old asked me a few years ago, "If light is attracted to dark colors, why are there shadows?" MIND. BLOWN.
I don't know about you, but the duck one just looks like a duck getting strangled.
And, the goat looks kind of sad.
We are at
IIII IIII I now. I have found that most questions that I am asked are asked out of pure boredom or the extreme need that all children have to be the center of all attention ever. I can sit and stare at my kids for an hour, never blinking, talking relentlessly about chores that need to be done, good deeds they need to accomplish in order to receive their treats at the end of the month for their chore charts that I concocted, homework that they need to be completing, and so on. Not a single word of it is processed or even heard. They ignore me when I talk to them directly.
If the phone rings and it's someone I want to talk to and not just another damn bill collector, the kids automatically sense that I am happy and engaging with another human being and in the words of The Dude, "This aggression will not stand, man." My attention immediately needs to be gained back by all four of them. Someone decides to have a melt down, and another kid might decide they are hungry even though I have spent an average of six hours a day feeding these creatures since their birth RIGHT NOW IS THE TIME THEY NEED NOURISHMENT OR THEY WILL COLLAPSE.
If I'm trying to sit down and write for fifteen minutes, THIS IS THE PERFECT TIME TO REMEMBER THE SCIENCE PROJECT THAT WAS DUE TWO WEEKS AGO AND MY SOLE ATTENTION AND GUIDANCE IS REQUIRED. I am pretty sure that this is normal and every parent goes through something similar, if not downright creepily exact, to what I'm talking about here. And, maybe I wouldn't be such a crazy person if I weren't required to not only pay attention to things that I'm not immersed in in that immediate moment, but pretend like I care most days, and answer ten billion questions about life, friendship, homework, poop, farts, bugs, shadows, gravity, puberty, what's in the casserole, and if I can start giving allowance for chores the kids don't hear me tell them to do.
I started this entry as a way to vent about the seemingly endless string of questions threaded throughout my seemingly endless days as a mom, and I can not remember most of what I have typed because the seemingly endless amount of times a mom can be interrupted while trying to just think. I love my kids so, so much and I would never encourage them to stop asking questions because asking questions is how you learn to be the person you become in this world. Having said that... Sometimes I just want to be a brainless zombie with an infinite amount of free time to create whatever craft is on the dockett for the day, or jot a couple of sentences down without having to raise my head from my notebook twenty-seven times to answer my daughter's questions about whether or not there is a God or if Poptarts are better toasted or plain. I. DON'T. KNOW. Those are very personal quests in life that one must figure out solo.
I think my brain services are needed and I'm going to have to sign off for now because I seem to be the only person who can figure out how to dry a shirt, put a Poptart in a toaster, and referee a fight over said Poptarts.
P.S. We are now at
IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII. If my calculations are correct, the amount of questions I am asked per day averages out to the amount of minutes my children have been awake.