Why

It’s official: Lily has entered the “why” phase. I can count on my activities and statements being questioned, and questioned persistently, several times a day.
“What are you doing, Mommy?” “I’m washing the dishes.” “But why?”
“Where is Daddy?” “He’s at work.” “But why?”
“You need to sit in your carseat.” “But why?”

And, of course, each “why” begets more of its kind. “Whys” are like Pringles apparently, and once you pop, you just can’t stop.
“You need to be quiet. Corin is sleeping.” “But why?”
“He needs sleep so that he can grow.” “But why?”
“Growing shows us that he’s healthy.” “But why?”

I’ve tried to think of names for this sort of exchange, and I think I’ll call it the Serial Why. Like the author of a serial fiction, Lily wants to hook my interest with every “why” installment, and only she knows how many installments will bring on the conclusion. Sometimes, there is an element of teasing on her part, and I suspect that she's after my attention as much as my information. But there is also real, irrepressible, and highly endearing curiosity, and on the whole, I enjoy it. I like that she wants to know.

I try to avoid series-ending answers like “because I said so” as much as possible--not, admittedly,  out of a pure, good-Mommy well of everlasting patience, but, among other things, out of my bent toward language and inquiry. I’m supposed to be an English professor some day, right? I pride myself on my use and love of words. If I can’t use words to thoughtfully address my own child, why should I lecture other people?

Many times, the process of answering Lily’s “whys” is good for me. Having to stop and think about why I am doing everyday tasks can be illuminating. Having to explain my requests or justify my requirements can be humbling. And having to give some difficult answers with sincerity and simplicity can be a solid mental workout. Sometimes, I find new motivation for something I had been doing out of thoughtless habit. (“Why do we clean our house, Mommy?” “We clean the house because it keeps us healthy by washing off germs; it keeps us safe from falling over things, and it shows that we care about our house and are glad to have it.”) Sometimes, I realize that my reason isn’t good, and I should change my behavior. (“Why are you on your iPhone, Mommy?” “I’m reading news, but I should play with you.”)

And sometimes, I see that I need to be asking “why” even when Lily doesn’t. Many of us, myself included, might make some different choices-- or at least know ourselves a bit better--if we had a three-year-old attitude.

I don’t need to get this work done right now. I can do it later. But why?
I don’t call my family very much, and that’s fine. But why?
I really want that new car, or that new outfit, or that big screen TV. But why?
That spiteful article making fun of that politician is hilarious. I hate that guy. But why?
I need to choose this job or this college major even though I’m not sure it’s for me. But why?

I know that the stereotype of a kid asking the Serial Why is supposed to be a funny nuisance. But, really, the pity is not that children persist in asking “why.” It's that adults too often don’t.

"But why?"