You know, they always say that young kids will one day learn to ask “why” and then they will never stop. You might think it’s an exageration, but it’s really not. Hayley started asking why around age two, or a little before, and has not only never stopped, she is picking up steam.

Generally it doesn’t bug me. Of course I understand it’s the only way to learn at that age since she can’t go look it up or read about it, so I answer as best as I can with age-appropriate answers (“The Earth turns and the sun goes around it, so when the sun sets here we share it with the people on the other side” instead of any heavier scientific stuff about rotation and revolution, for instance).

Some days though, it just never ends and I can’t answer one more “why” without wanting to cry a little, or possibly stick my ear plugs in my ears and pretend I have no idea WHY I can’t hear her. In fact, I’ve channelled my mother a few times, hearing myself say “Because I said so!” in response to the dreaded question in relation to not being allowed to do or have something.

But mostly it’s just the sort of thing that slowly drives you mildly insane until you snap just a little and give an answer that’s so confusing, it stops the questions for at least half an hour.

“Why is that crane over there?”
“Because they’re building a new set of condos.”
“What are condos?”
“Like apartments but you buy it like a house.”
“Can we go see it?”
“We can go to the edge and look but we can’t go right over.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s a construction site.”
“What’s a construction site?”
“Where they build stuff.”
“Why can’t we go?”
“Because it’s dangerous.”
“Why?”
“It just is.”
“Can we take a ball?”
“Not today.”
“Why not?”
“Because we’re not going out on the grass. We’re walking to Stone Step Hill and there’s nowhere to play soccer there, and I can’t carry the ball.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m pushing the stroller.”
“What will we do at Stone Step Hill?”
“We can feed the squirrels if there are any around.”
“What do squirrels eat?”
“Well, nuts and stuff but we’ll take a bit of bread.”
“Why?”
“LOOK, IT’S NOT THE BLOODY SPANISH INQUISITION! Are you ready to go?”
“… Yes, Mommy.”
“Good. Let’s go.”