But why?

Here's the thing: "Do as I say, not as I do" isn't gonna cut it with the Neff brood.  "But why?" will be on my sons eternal records, under the heading "Ways in which I tortured my mother".  Also on that list, I'm forseeing, girls.  But let's not cross any questionable bridges until we're forced at gun point. 

"But why?" is a question that will, without a doubt, follow me to my grave. 

The first place I go whenever I'm struggling internally with external signs of insanity due to motherhood: prayer. 

First step: beg for mercy.  Please, please make him stop.  I don't know.  I DON'T KNOW THE ANSWER, Lord.  I just don't know.

Second place I go whenever I'm struggling internally with external signs of insanity due to motherhood: prayer. 

I take it back!  I take it back, please stop testing me now!

Finally, I go limp.  Acceptance sets in.  Reality clicks.  I let the Spirit take over, and all seems to fall into place.  I begin to realize that when my son asks, "Why is the sun by the moon today?" that he doesn't want to know about the orbit of the earth, that we're on a tilted axis, and that his mother has NO IDEA what any of this means.  And I gratefully realize that I only have to give him the simple answer: "It changes every night."

Judges?  YES!  The answer is accepted, and a new string of questions is presented.  The kid needs to go into the CIA and torture.  I mean, if the CIA did that kinda stuff.  Which of course they DON'T!  Right...

And the Spirit reminds me, daily, hourly, minute by minute, every second, that he learns just like me.  Just like the rest of us.  Line upon line, precept upon precept.

Kelly Out