Unending Questions…

My daughters can go most of an entire day only asking me the crucial survival questions: “Mommy, could I have a snack now?” or “Mommy, could I go play in the backyard?” Mostly, it’s declarations, like: “Mom, You gotta see this picture I painted!” or “Have I got a funny joke to tell you!”
It seems that exactly at bedtime, bellies begin to ache, bottoms begin to be sore, and new cuts in need of Band-Aids are discovered, in the dark, mind you. On top of all these problems that only Mommy can solve, there are also deep, puzzling questions that must be answered. I love it that my kids haven’t figured out yet that I actually don’t know everything. That bubble will soon burst, I know. It always begins this way:

Catie: Mommy, I hafta ask you a serious question, ‘kay?

Me: Is that the question or do you have something else to ask me?

Catie: Mommy, how big is God? Is he bigger than the Jolly Green Giant?

Me: I bet we look like grains of sand to God, that’s how big He is.

Halie: If it’s always daytime somewhere in the world, when does the sun get to sleep? What about the moon?

Me: I’ll have to ask God about that when I get to heaven.

Catie: What happens when we die?

Me: [thinking] Where do these questions come from? Why are you asking me?

I heard a clear and simple explanation for ‘crossing over’ recently. The verbal illustration was enough to paint a mental picture for me, and I thought it might do the same for my girls. I told my daughters, “Imagine that you’ve fallen asleep in the living room, and then Daddy carries you into your room and tucks you into bed. When you wake up again, you realize you are not where you remember being when you fell asleep. It’s possible that it happens just like that.”

Halie and Catie: Oh. G’night Momma.

I just don’t think that I can come up with that kind of answer at the end of the day when I’m already so frazzled and just ready to snuggle into my husband’s shoulder. Inevitably, I fall asleep on the sofa. Only DH doesn’t try to move my big butt. He just turns the TV off, and makes sure to leave the ceiling fan on so I don’t drown in my own sweat. Smart man. DH loves me enough to risk breaking his back lugging me to our bed, but also knows not to mess with me while I’m asleep. Very smart man.


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