why Why WHY WHY

Our exchange this morning in the bathroom, as Shawn Joaquin looked through random items in the cabinet:

What are those?
Tampons.
Can I eat them?
No, they're not to eat. They're made out of paper, kind of like toilet paper.
Do you wipe your bottom with them?
No.
What they for? Can I try it?

In the last week he's had multiple questions about my body parts, his body parts, where poo poo comes from and where it goes after it leaves the toilet, what death means and where people go when they're not HERE anymore and why it makes us sad, and whether peach yogurt is actually a yogurt or just something yucky that I have tried to pass off as an edible. This during a week when we're all sick and impatient and much more interested in what kind of impression the pillow case can make on our faces if we lie immobile for at least two hours of blessed napping.

At this moment I am supposedly paying bills, and can hear Gregg upstairs trying to read book to Shawn Joaquin who is more interested in the details than the actual story.

The man walked down the street and...
What the man walking about? What's on his shoes? Who's that in the window? Whose house is that? What his name? What her name? What is that animal? What it sound like? Is that a cloud? The cloud looks like a WITCH. Why you afraid of witches? What witches do? Where they live? Do witches DIE? When they die, are you sad? Where they go? Why they do THAT?

My friend Melina, who admires my son from afar, will chalk this up as yet another blog entry that confirms her decision to have cats and friends instead of children. While I envy her ability to get to the gym after work, go to first run movies in actual theaters and be able to leave the house for an adult night without paying $10 an hour for the pleasure, I'll stick with my never-ending question and answer show, and just be glad for these days when I can actually answer his questions without needing to turn to reference materials or the crisis intervention line.