Having two four-year-olds has its benefits and its trials. One of the things that qualifies for both those categories is the number of questions they ask: many, endlessly. It can get tedious but on the other hand, it does make life entertaining.
The other day Linus came in from playing outside to ask me in a single breath, "Mama, can you get me a graham cracker? And are sharks dead or are they alive? And does water come from the ocean through drains?"
(I got him the graham cracker. I chose not even to touch the topic of possible zombie sharks.)
And the funny thing is that Linus isn't even our most prolific questioner. That title goes to his twin brother, whom I have never seen satisfied by an answer. No matter how complete it may be, he ALWAYS has a followup question.
So tonight I was singing the children one more song before leaving the room so they could go to sleep, and Camilla asked where boogers come from. I know this one! So I gave her a elementary-school-anatomy-level answer, and that was fun. I like that kind of pseudo-medical stuff.
Unfortunately, I had failed to anticipate that agreeing to answer Camilla's question would signal to Ambrose that it was Question Time. He started off with "why do our eyes have that blue part?" and I shouted that I didn't know, came back with the fan they'd requested to hear him muttering to himself, came back again with water cups, and left the room the final time to his last-ditch effort:
"BUT MAMA! Why do we have NOSES?"
I'll see him in the morning, when I imagine his brain will greet the day with, "I'd like some juice. What is juice made of? Oh, oranges. How do they get the juice out of the oranges? How do they put it into the jugs? Why does it taste sweet and sour?"
The trick, I suppose, is to get him to internalize this dialogue and start finding his own answers. But then I'm sure that, perversely, I'll miss it when it's gone.