Land of a Thousand Questions

Anyone remember Uncle Buck?   He sat in a kitchen with a young, McCauley Caulkin machine-gunning questions him.  The record for consecutive questions: 38.  Lightweight.  No, I'm sorry, that's not a lightweight, that doesn't actually qualify to be let in to watch the lightweights warm up.  Anyone with a 3-year-old living under their roof knows that once that first question gets asked, there's a distinct possibility that the next few words out of your mouth can start a chain reaction of of rapid-fire questions that can leave you more delirious than Charlie Sheen after a late-afternoon bender. 

Answering questions is normal.  In fact, I think most non-labor jobs can be boiled down to doing one primary thing:  Coming up with answers to questions. 

Think about it:

Doctor - Umm, what made you decide to stick THAT in THERE?
Lawyer - Who convinced you to stick That in There?
Engineer - You want me to stick What, Where?
Politician - Where can I stick this?

My profession is the same thing.  It's about coming up with the answers to people's questions.  Some of them are easy, some of them take a while.  Regardless of the question that I'm trying to answer at the time, the importance will always be trumped by whatever is asked by my two talking Question-O-Matics.

What my boys may lack in question sophistication, they more than make up for in sheer volume and tenacity.  I think I clocked my oldest in around 4,627 questions in the space of one afternoon when he was younger.  Thankfully, he's refined his skills enough such that he can get a satisfactory answer in under 50 attempts.  My three-year old, not so much.  He's hampered by the fact that as a 3-year-old he has the attention span of a gnat and a limited frame of reference for answers (which allows me throw a zinger or two into my response without him realizing).   Despite getting an answer he may have been willing to accept, by the time he's left the room, he's forgotten the answer and returns to begin the exchange of information anew. That is, of course, assuming you were able to properly understand the question the first time and didn't inadvertently provide an answer that would begin a full-scale inquisition.  If that happens, you might as well just stop whatever it was you were trying to work on, deadlines be damned, grab a drink and a comfy chair and prepare yourself for the long siege.  To add a level of difficulty to the Olympic Event, not only do you have to actually KNOW the answer, but you also have to carefully mine your vocabulary for words your Super Sleuth understands, and then construct the answer in a way that can also be understood.  All the time being sensitive to who your audience is.

"Dad, where do baby's come from?"
Me:  "Huh?"  (Stall tactic...I heard him just fine)
"Where do baby's come from?"
Me:  "The hospital.  Don't you remember when your brother was born?  Daddy took Mommy to the hospital and came home with the baby?"
"Oh yeah."  (Brief pause.  Perhaps I'm off the hook?) "But wasn't the baby in Mommy's belly first?" (Damn)
Me: "Yes"
(Where's a shiny object for distraction when you need one?)
"How'd it get in Mommy's belly?"
Me:  "God put it there."
"Why?"
Me:  "Because He thought Mommy and Daddy weren't crazy enough with 3 and wants to drive us completely over the edge."
"Huh?"
Me:  "Never mind.  Because God knows how much we love you guys and He thought it would be great if you had a little brother or sister."
"Oh.  Ok.  That's a good idea."
Me:  "I'm glad you approve."

I don't care WHAT the child psychologists may say, I'm not going birds-and-bees with my 5-year-old.  No way.  No how.

Frame of reference is also huge.  For people who don't have kids, or haven't been around young kids in a while, they forget that most of how we describe things or interact with the world is based on prior experience.  I've felt bad for family members in the past who have arrived to the house very excited about a gift they had brought only to be met with stark indifference:

(enter grandpa)
"Hey guys!"
(enter enthusiastic munchkins)
"GRANDPA!"
"Look what I brought you!" (holding out gift)
"Uh.  OK."
"What's the matter?  Don't you like it?"
"What is it?"
"It's a Sled!"
"Oh.  Ok."  (exit stage left)
(Disappointed Grandfather) "I thought they'd be more excited."
(Me)  "I'm sure they would be if they had any clue what a sled is."
"Ah."
For the record, that was remedied soon afterwards.

Perhaps just as mind numbing is the endless monologue.  For a child with limited vocabulary, my three year old has no lack of lung power to keep up a constant barrage of prattle.  I've come back from a 20 minute trip to the store to find a frazzled looking wife in the kitchen with the little guy sitting at the table. His now-cold chicken nuggets lay untouched in front of him because eating one would have required him to stop talking long enough to take a breath.  I'm quickly told: "He's been yammering at me non-stop since you left."  Now, this particular situation takes a gentle touch.  Being fully dedicated to the welfare of my wife, I want to extract her from the situation prior to full mental collapse (I've been there, I'm sympathetic) but I don't necessarily want to do so in such a way that redirects the onslaught at myself (I've been there...I'm not THAT sympathetic).  There are no Medals of Valor given for jumping on the chatterbox grenade.  At least if you are in the house, you can walk around a bit, most likely being followed by continuing sagas of...well...everything he's experienced in the last 48 hours.  If you are in the car, however, you are in trouble.  Rush hour traffic?  You're a goner.  There's absolutely no point in trying to follow the stream of consciousness or make any sense about what's being said.  I've tried a few times and it left me jibbering like an idiot.  Scariest of all was the time I followed and understood just about all of it.  3 hours and 17 minutes of my life I can no longer account for.

So if you have some time to kill, come on over.  Question sessions start randomly, have no known topic, and no specified time limit.  All are invited to attend (and allow for Mom or Dad to make an inconspicuous exit).

(For the record, this post was interrupted no less than 44 times during it's construction...It was a slow day.)