Stop with the questions. No. Really.

“Who put buttons on my trousers?” E asks.

“The people who  made them, sweetie.”

“Who that?”

“Err… do you want a drink?” (Conversation Diversionary Tactic Number 23).

“No. Who put buttons on my trousers?”

Please stop asking questions. I know you are curious about the world around you and everything is new and marvellous and thought-provoking and wonderful and amazing and strange, but please. I am tired, my brain aches and I am fed up of being the human manifestation of Google; it is exhausting. Just half an hour of no questions would be lovely.

A short while later: “What do chickens eat?”

Stop now.

A short while after that: “Where does bread grow?”

No really. Stop. My head hurts and I am not sure I can explain the manufacturing process of a loaf of bread in words of less than two syllables without starting to cry.

Sometime later: “Mummy. Why does dust float?”

Okay. Any more bloody questions and I will lock you in the shed.

Finally: “Why is it dark in the forest?”

That’s it. In the shed now.

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One response to “Stop with the questions. No. Really.

  • Hermione

    Human manifestation of Google. That’s me.
    Also annoying is that whilst I am viewed as the font of all knowledge it seems Daddy is not. Which generally is a good strategy and they are obviously smart kids BUT annoying questions and requests for bum wiping when both parents are present could be more evenly spread.

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