Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom?

I'm sitting here, completely alone, in a quiet living room on a Saturday morning. It is precisely 7:12. As any parent of young children knows, this is an exceptionally late start to the day around here. For whatever reason, the two older boys are sound asleep. I don't know why or how, but I'm watching GMA at a borderline-audible volume level and sipping the greatest cup of coffee that ever was, listening to the baby play in his crib where I have shamelessly left him to chillax with Gloworm until I decide I am ready to start chasing him. (It is not quite yet.)

The clock is ticking. Because in what will most likely be less than 30 minutes, it shall begin.

When I say that "it" shall begin, I could specify with any number of things. The noise shall begin. The fighting shall begin. The leaky sippy cups shall begin. The chasing of the cat shall begin. But today, the "it" that I am sitting here awaiting is this: the questions. In t-minus (18? 26?) minutes, the questioning shall begin. It starts early, and on and on it will go until their heads meet their pillows again this evening. And even then, it sometimes continues. So if you are awake right now and not lucky enough to be the "spouse who gets to sleep in" (seriously, dude, tomorrow's my day), you may have already begun your journey into the Land of Inquisition.

The other day, because I thought it might make for interesting reading thirty years from now (when my boys have kids of their own who question, and question, and question), I decided to make notes of their inquiries from dawn to dusk. As it turns out, pre-dawn would be more precise. I share this with you now so that you may either a) commiserate, or b) make sure to use adequate birth control. Also, as you read this, you must remember the "Children's General Rule of Thumb," which is this: The less energy the adult has, the more serious (or pointless) the question will be.

So I give you this peek into what is a completely typical day chez Youngworth. For notation purposes, the seven year old addresses me as Mom; the four year old addresses me as Mommy; and the baby grunts with the best of them.

***

"Mom, it's 5:58 am. Why is it dark out?" (Because, dude, it is 5:58 in the morning. This is not a reasonable time to have a discussion.)

"Mommy, can I have hummus for breakfast?" (Gross, no.)

"Mom, can I have a milkshake for breakfast?" (Now that idea has merit. But again, no. Although I might indulge later while you're at school.)

"Mommy, do you remember when you were married to Daddy?" (Um, am I not anymore?) "Well, can I marry you?" (Absolutely.)

"Mommy, can I have peanut butter crackers for lunch?" (Yes, and if we do the math, ten crackers a day {multiplied by} five straight months of this very same inquiry {equals} I should probably have allowed you to eat hummus for breakfast so as to vary your dietary intake.)

"Uh, uh, uh, uh, uhhhhhhhh?" (with finger pointing at the object in question), which roughly translates to "What is that object? Why are the best parts moving around in a circle? Why is it so fabulous? Can I touch it? Can I touch it? Can I touch it?" (It's a clock, the hands move to tell time, your aunt picked it out so of course it's fabulous, and no, you may not destroy it.)

"Mommy, can I keep this icicle?" (No.) "But it's for my collection!" (So, where exactly have you put the others?)

"Ah ah ahhhhhh?" (which roughly translates to "I'm doing something I know I am not allowed to do, but is it OK if I do it anyway?" (No, you should not throw every third bite on the floor. Yes, I can assure you that your rejected bites taste exactly the same as the other bites that you devoured. No, I do not enjoy cleaning the floor. Yes, I do wish you would stop.)

"Mom, will the Tooth Fairy leave me what I wish for?" (Well, what are you wishing for?) "A thousand dollars?" (Um, no.)

"Mom, do you remember the game when the Bruins beat the Flames 9 to 0?" (Nope. Not even a little bit.)

"Mom, do I have to eat the carrot?" (Yes. It is the size of my pinkie finger. And if you do not eat it, I will scream like a crazy person because, honestly, it's one stinking little carrot. And I think you choose not to eat it just to see a visible rise in my blood pressure.)

"Mommy, can I have more carrots?" (Yes, but the fact that you are eating them to spite your brother is both admirable and abhorrent on equal levels.)

"Mom, did you know that Justin Bieber got arrested?" (Yes, but you're seven. Why on Earth do you know?)

"Mom, is Heaven higher than outer space? Or is outer space higher?" (This is a good question for Dad when he gets home.)

"Mom, when you die, can you come back?" (Some people think so.) "As many times as you want?" (I guess so.) "When I come back, I'm going to live in California." (Nicely planned, kid.)

"Mommy, can we snuggle?" (I thought you would never ask. And I live in a constant state of fear of the day when you won't ask me anymore.)

"Mom, mom, mom, MOM! What is that noise?" (Dumbass cat got locked in the closet again.)

"Mom, can I have some water?" (The tiniest bit.)

"Mommy, can I have some too?" (Without fail. Every single night.)

...and then, as I walked down the stairs after tucking them in, I wondered a question of my own. It invariably brings a smile to my face and (that which always mystifies Mark) a tear or two (or seventy, depending on the day and my mental state)...  

How is it that they are growing up so fast?

***

So on this peaceful Saturday morning, even when I hide with my coffee and take just a bit too long to get the baby from his crib, I have to remember that time never stands still. This is a gift on some days and a heart-wrenching realization on others. Regardless of the type of day we end up with, I will do my best to savor every moment with these three little men. To soak up the madness and the love in equal parts. And every once in a while, I may throw caution to the wind. Who knows? I might just whip up some hummus and a milkshake for breakfast.