My darling daughter,
I understand that your relentless need to know ‘why’ is a significant part of your development. I am trying to answer clearly and accurately, but sometimes you make it difficult (I don’t know why that’s a spoon. Because it is not a fork? Because some molecules all got together and decided to be a spoon? Because the matter around it isn’t a spoon?).
As a reward for my REPEATED (I can’t emphasize that enough) efforts to answer your questions, I wonder if you would answer a few ‘why’ questions that I have.
Why do you ignore your baskets, shelves and buckets of toys to play with household items like washcloths (clean or dirty), wooden spoons (with requisite theoretical wonderings on their very existence), and oven mitts? And while we’re on the topic, where are the oven mitts?
Why must we communicate through your animals? Is there anything I can do to regain direct access or will I always have to answer and address only Giraffe or Bear or Piggy (it would appear you follow the Franklin convention of nomenclature)?
Why must all of your demands be met immediately (“You’re not getting me my juice!”), while my requests must be made in triplicate three days in advance before there is even a chance you will consider them (this is a formal request for Little Miss to put her Dora “crocs” on at 8:50 Friday morning in order to get to preschool on time)?
Why do you like Daddy better? Could it be because he doesn’t blog about you?
Thank you for reading my questions. I eagerly await your response. I will do my utmost to continue to answer all of your questions if you will allow me a moment here and there for Google (note: this may mean you have to wait on that juice), and if you cut them down to maybe 25 per day.
P.S. The ‘why’ questions aren’t too bad – it is the ‘how’ questions I fear the most – How are babies made? How do you get a dinosaur out of the toilet? How do you kiss? How do you get a tattoo removed?