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The Great Toddler Inquisition “Mommy, why is my tongue always wet?” The question seeps from the back seat forward out of the mouth of my inquisitive three year old, Isabelle. I glance in the rear view mirror as she reaches into her mouth with both fists and clutches her tongue. Soon her tiny hands are sopping wet, too. “Well, honey, I suppose it has to do with saliva helping your food go down and the production of your digestive juices.” “What’s slaliva?” Isabelle counters wiping her slimy paws on her shirt. It’s obvious the path we are heading down. I have mistakenly engaged in the Great Toddler Inquisition. “When do you think the world will end, daddy?” Isabelle wonders while soaping Big Bird in her nightly bath. My husband calls to me for assistance but I don’t have any better answers. I gently remind him that he is the one pursuing his PhD. Shouldn’t that mean he has to tackle the really tough queries? I’m struggling to do laundry and assemble school lunches simultaneously. I don’t think there was a parenting manual that sufficiently prepared me for the constant interrogation that begins magically around the third birthday. I feel that I am barely stumbling through this life sorting the world out for myself, and now I have to contemplate questions that I haven’t gotten around to in the last thirty years. “Who’s that guy?” Isabelle wonders pointing a chocolate covered finger at a picture of Chairman Mao on the back of the newspaper. Mao’s face now sports a Gorbachev chocolate birthmark. The three of us are sitting outside our favorite bagel shop for Sunday brunch. My husband and I have temporarily joined forces against the inquisition. We feel our strength swelling. “Chairman Mao led the peasant revolt in China, Isabelle…” my husband begins. I know he’s feeling confident. Finally, a question with a definitive answer. “Well, daddy,” Isabelle interrupts, “cats meow, too, you know.” These questions have real value in Isabelle’s education about the world. And I’m glad she fires them our direction. I just feel ill equipped to answer the examination adequately. I know I cannot withstand the torture chamber of repetition. If Isabelle isn’t satisfied with my reply, she simply repeats the question…again…and again…and again. I try to be sneaky and use variations of the same answer to the repetitive questions, but she usually rejects my repackaging attempts. When in doubt, I go online. The Internet has become the parent’s answer to the Great Toddler Inquisition. We can type in these ridiculous, probing questions and sometimes add more depth and logic to our answers, all of which, of course, is lost on our three year old’s lack of anything resembling reason. Isabelle doesn’t really listen to my well-informed responses anyway. I could be in the middle of a lecture about why Ariel has red hair and how come she can sing so eloquently underwater when a lemon colored butterfly in our front yard sends my toddler on a mad dash in its pursuit. “So, you see, it’s not that King Triton is mean. He’s just firm and protective….” My voice trails off and we’ve both lost interest in the question and its reply. These toddler days seem to be filled with endless questions. Even though I sometimes find the pace of the cross-examination exhausting, once in awhile Isabelle is merciful. “Mommy, do you love me?” Come on. Even I can answer that one.
Melissa Scholes Young is a freelance writer, mom, and public school teacher in Tallahassee, Florida. Her previous publications include both fiction and nonfiction in Family Forum Magazine, the nationally syndicated Front Porch Magazine, the Tallahassee Democrat, and A Cup of Comfort for Teachers. Her website is www.melissasyoung.com.
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