As a journalist, one of the most important parts of my job was to ask questions. To ask the right questions. I'd start out with the basics--you know, the 5 Ws and the H--who, what, when, where, why and how--and then progress from there.
The "why?" is often the biggie. And on that note, I have a few "why? questions" about my own life.
Why do baby clothes run in an even wilder gamut of sizes than women's clothes?
(It's just plain weird that my 23-month-old child has clothes that he can wear right now in 18-24 months, 24 months, 2t, 3t, and 4t. Oh! A good follow-up question: why don't they make more stain-resistant children's clothes? Is there some smoky back-room collusion with the detergent industry going on?)
Why does that darned crib aquarium eat batteries like a carnivore at a steak convention?
(It takes three D batteries, and I swear, William pushes that button like it's his job and he can't take a coffee break. David and I are prying that thing open with the Phillips head screwdriver once a week. We should own stock in Energizer or Duracell.)
Why does William refuse to sit in his Time Out chair when he is supposed to?
(And what can we do about this? It's getting out of control.)
Why do I even bother trying to explain to my son why he needs to sit in Time Out when he's in one of those wild-eyed, wild-hair moods?
(Like he's listening. God. He's still cute, though.* And **. And ***.)
I've got my trusty little mini tape recorder around here somewhere (I'm all old school). If you can just tell me to whom I should direct my all-important questions, I will get right on it.