The "What Is" Phase

Sometimes I think my spotty memory is actually a blessing in disguise.  Sure, I forget to take the trash down every 3rd Thursday or so, but that doesn't really harm anyone, does it?  No, I think that same spotty memory that occasionally leads to overflowing recycling bins also allows us to forget the mental anguish associated with raising kids.  Heck, I've heard the exact same argument made for why women choose to have more children after enduring the pain of child birth with their first.  

OK, so my current example of this phenomenon pales in comparison to that one, but it'll have to do.  Today, out of the blue, Lily started asking me a litany of "What is?" questions. 

Daddy, what's bleach?

Daddy, what's sausage?

Daddy, what's a marker?

Daddy, what's a baby?

Are you freakin' kidding me right now?  How the hell do you tell a 3 year-old what sausage is?  What's worse is that right after the first line of questioning, about 3:00 this afternoon, all of the memories of when Avery hit this stage came flooding back.  I can remember being so frustrated that my eyebrows were tingling when she'd start in with her nonsense . . 

Corey, what's hair?

Corey, what's a house?

Corey, what's pink?

Corey, what's a flower?

Oy.  I can just hear George Costanza screaming in the back of my head . . 

Serenity now!!!!!