Go Ahead (Ask Me Anything!)

My children ask more questions before 8AM than most people ask all day.

I know this is a blatant rip-off of you-know-who's  "Be all You Can Be" propaganda campaign, but I'm not feeling all that creative today. I was up at five o'clock (much as those poor Army guys) doing the commando crawl out of my daughter's room, hoping she's actually STAY asleep after the emergency bathroom dash.

Though my crawling technique is quite good (I've had a lot of practice) the enemy spotted my retreat, and demanded orange juice.

"Can I have the red cup with a cow on it? And a straw? And some cereal? In the red bowl? With milk? And a purple plastic spoon?…"

One of the most annoying things about this breakfast procedure is that I KNOW what she's going to ask, because we go through it each and every day, EXACTLY in the same order. So I'm handing her the red cup with orange juice and a straw in, on the front end of the question. But I get to listen to the litany anyhow, because there's no derailing a three-year-old.

I used to require a "Please" with each question, but frankly, it prolongs the process, and demands much more involvement on my part. Usually at that time of day I'm happy if I can remember which one is the refrigerator and which one is the trash.

"…Can I watch cartoons? Can I change the channel? Where's the clicker? Can you get it for me? Where are my clothes? Can I wear a different shirt? Will you help me put it on? Can you find my shoes?…"

It's white noise.

"…What are you making for my lunch? Can I have peanut butter and honey? Can I have more cereal? Is it a school day? When does Arthur come on? Is it cold out?…"

<Plugged ears> LALALALALALALA!

Unfortunately, I am a person who requires approximately 60 minutes of coffee and silence to greet the world in a non-dangerous mood. So mostly I hover around the kitchen with the trademark Popeye cringe, wishing I were deaf.

And just when she's gotten to the end of the spiel, when there aren't ANY more questions that a 3-year-old could POSSIBLY think to ask, her brother staggers in.

"Where's my orange juice? What's Abby eating? Can I have some? Do you know where my Spiderman is? Can I take him to school?…"

Not to be squeezed out of the conversation, Abby just starts again from the top. And so it goes in stereo.

Only while Abby is on a 10-minute circular speech, Max is more of a tangential questioner - thus requiring that I pay some level of attention, or risk being caught ignoring him (a major maternal faux pas.) He'll throw in questions about geography, science, and sometimes theology (maybe we should have named him Regis.) Usually without even having the decency to wait till I have half a cup of coffee down my gullet.

"Mom, I wish you wouldn't drink coffee. It makes you grouchy."

"…Can I go to Alex's house today? When are we going to see Uncle Paul? Can you stand on a cloud? What are tongues made of? Can I wear my blue jacket? Will you talk to me while I brush my teeth?…"

…"Can I give you a hug?"

Okay - I heard THAT one.