Little Fish is in a delightful phase I don't remember St. Nick going through at age 8ish. He asks questions.
Yes, of course Nick asked (and still asks) questions. But his questions are more, um, grounded. Take, for example the question he asked about a year ago. "Mom, when did you and Dad have sex to make the baby?" Hello math lesson.
Fish's questions are ... different.
Fish's Picture - Intended for use on t-shirts
Hey Mom? If we had a baby polar bear would we keep it in the freezer?
Hey Mom? If you had on a meat vest and saw a pack of wild dogs and ran away would they chase you?
Hey Mom? What if you dropped a potion in a cemetery and all the people came up out of the ground as zombies?
Hey Mom? Mama? Mom? Wouldn't it be cool if gravity didn't exist?
Hey Mom? Where do homeless people go to hang out?
Hey hey Mom? Did Clifford get so big from radiation? Or from steroids?
This was from one ten minute drive. One. Ten Minute Drive. What's more fun, no matter what I'm doing Fish never hesitates to come ask me one of his questions. Just a second ago: Hey Mom? Don't you think the Lego makers should start making Power Miners again? He was on to something else before I could remember what "Power Miners" were.
I had dreams for my family life, for the kids education, for my own recreation time (which currently clocked in at daily total of zero minutes, zero seconds). I longed to do things like knit, read books with real pages, write for the joy of it. Instead, I was living life of reacting—not to God’s direction—but to people’s momentary expectations, urgent tasks all shoving and bickering to be FIRST on my list. I was desperate to get back to the most important focus of every day...