My 2 ½ year-old daughter should be one of those CIA operatives who can coerce information out of prisoners through verbal torture. She is slowly, steadfastly driving me insane. Her technique is so simple. She does it with one word: why?
All day long, for 12 straight hours, and nothing I say can make it stop. It’s the repetition that makes me want to throw myself into the
But apparently that answer is insufficient. Within a few minutes, Dylan wants to know, “why does daddy go to work?” In an effort to keep my mind energized and to not suffer agonizing boredom, I offer up these reasons throughout the day.
“Daddy goes to work to bring home the bacon.”
“Daddy goes to work to pay the mortgage so we can live in the manner we have become accustomed to.”
“Daddy goes to work to make money, so we can buy things, which helps keep the American economy strong, which means the
Dylan stumbles through the words “economic powerhouse” to inquire why that is the case.
“Dylan, no more questions today. I love your curiosity but mommy is tired. We’ll ask more questions tomorrow,” I tell her sighing deeply.