Ten Questions I Wish I Could Ask My Kids, But Can’t


Kids are mysteries, aren’t they?

The following are 10 questions I wish I could ask my two:

1. Why do you hand me the chewed up food from your mouth?

Dude, the table is right there. You don’t even ask me if I want it. You just hand it to me.

Why do you think I want that saliva covered mess touching my skin?

Let’s make it clear… I don’t, nor have I ever.

I would ask my kids why they want me to hold chewed up food.
I don’t want whatever you’re trying to hand me in this picture.

2. Why are you so happy one minute and so ticked off the next?

Look, we’re having a great time. We’re playing with your Little People barn. I’m giving you my full, undivided attention. You’re laughing. I’m not sure what you’re laughing at, but it doesn’t matter. Then it’s as if someone showed you a picture of a dead cat. Complete 180-degree turn. What is going on in that head? I would ask you, but you’re too busy losing your mind.

3. Why, when the whole table is free, why do you choose to put your full Tigger cup right on the edge, so that it can topple over when a bug passes wind?

I don’t even have to explain why this is an issue.

4. Why do you have to go to the bathroom right in the middle of quiet time?

I ask you to go to the bathroom. I ask you so many times. And you actually do. From my seat at the table, I hear the three year-old’s pee hitting the toilet water. Is that all fake? Are you taking tub toys and filling them up in secret, only to empty them into the toilet to dupe me? What is to be gained by this? Are you really that interested in seeing me wash dishes? Clean the mouse cage? Text your father? Nothing cool is going on out here.

You’re not missing anything. Poop when I tell you to poop!

I would ask my kids why they can't poop before quiet time. Or after it.

5. Why do you ask me for something when it’s right in front of you?

Yesterday you told me you were thirsty… your water bottle was resting on your leg. When you tell me that you’re thirsty, are you expecting me to pick up the water bottle, splash some in my mouth and spit it back into yours? ‘Cause, I’ll do it. It’s gross, but if that’s what you want, I can do it. The water bottle is actually announcing its presence by sending messages to your brain through the nerve endings on your leg, so I don’t really see any other reason why you would be telling me you’re thirsty.

6. Why do you tell me I’m wrong about things?

Like Louis C.K. said, I’m 34 years old… you’re three. There’s no way on God’s great earth that you’re right. There really are different ways of singing “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” the last four pages of “The Twelve Days of Christmas” book we got from the library is not printed wrong simply because it doesn’t match the version we bought at T.J. Maxx.

7. How can you be so annoying and so loveable at the same time?

I don’t expect you to have a real answer to this one. I just want you to know that I don’t get it. You’ve sung “Grand Old Flag” fifteen thousand times already and it’s not even eight o’clock yet. I’m really beginning to want to desecrate a flag at this point. But every time you sing it, I want to pick you up and kiss you… I don’t get it.

8. How can you not be hungry?

You got up at 5:30. You ate half a banana and said you were done. At ten, you had a handful of goldfish crackers. Lunch rolls around. You eat half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and say you’re done. I try to get you to eat the other half of your breakfast banana, nothing doing. I bribe you to eat your raisins with more goldfish crackers. Nope, denied. You eat a couple raw green beans and then for dinner you eat… did you eat dinner? I scraped your plate into the garbage and there seemed to be quite a bit to scrape. What’s going on here? Your check-ups go fine. You’re still on your growth curve. My only thoughts are that you are sneaking protein bars into your room at night and only eat when it’s pitch dark out.

I would ask my kids to eat something. Anything. Please.
The one time you finished something I gave you… it was a chocolate turkey.

9. Why don’t you think I’m funny?

Last week, I put a blanket over my shoulder and did a perfect impression of the Cowardly Lion for you singing “If I were King of the Forest.” I got zilch. You and your sister stared at me blankly and went back to drawing on the kitchen table. But then, you both laugh hysterically at me accidentally dropping a dish towel. You and your sister are the toughest crowd I’ve ever worked.

You didn’t find this remotely humorous either.

10. Why do you have to grow up?

I actually asked you this question and you said,

“Mama, I have to turn four.”

I just wanted to say, but why? Why do you have to? I wanted to say, do you know how happy you and your sister have made me? Do you know how scared and sad I am thinking about you leaving me for the big world? The thought of you going to school full time nearly makes me break out in hives. I think your father is going to have to hide all sharp objects when you move out of the house.


What questions do you wish you could ask your kids?


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