Questions! Questions!
By
Celeste Palermo, copyright 2004
“Mom, whatchawannadotoday? I wannago to the park. Canwegotheparktoday? Pleeeeasemommycanwegotothepark? Isitwarmoutside? Cantheneighborsboyscomeoverandplaytoo? CanIwatchavideo? I wannawatchBluesCluesOK? Whattawegonnadomommy? Whattawegonnadotoday?”
A toddler’s questions are constant. Peyton’s are non-stop chatter a million miles an hour, as if she is in training to become an auctioneer. I am used to her interrogations, responding as best I can, given my limited understanding of the world and how it works. I wish I knew more, confident in my answers. Most days, I just listen and do the best I can.
Not long ago, my sister, Cara, came to visit. She took Peyton on walks and played with her. Peyton was delighted, and I was free to nap or read, to spend my time as I would have in pre-Peyton days. One afternoon, however, I could tell my sister was tiring. She convinced Peyton to nap with her in front of the fireplace; they snuggled up, Cara closing her eyes in anticipation of some much-needed rest. I watched from the couch, where I had been devouring a chunky paperback.
A human wiggle worm, Peyton, was trying her best to get comfortable. She started to sing. She pulled her foot up to eye level and carefully analyzed the peeling nail polish. She reached for a magazine and began to flip through the pages. Then she paused. She turned over, thoughtfully gazed at Cara for a few moments, then began.
“Do you have toys?
“Do you play at school?
“Do you play at home?
“Do you play cook?
“Do you play house?
“Do you play Sleeping Beauty?
“Do you play tree house?
“Have you ever been in a tree house?
“I’ve never been in a tree house, but Daddy’s gonna build me one and he’ll put breakfast, lunch and dinner in a bucket and we’ll pull it up!”
Despite her best effort to rest, Cara dutifully answered, hoping with each response Peyton would nod off. No way. I smirked, thinking of the many times I’d have given my left arm for peace, but my chatterbox would not slow down. It was fun to watch someone else in my shoes for a change.
“Do you have a Barbie?
“Do you know how to play chess?
“Can you do this?” (Peyton demonstrates a tongue twirl.)
“Have you gone to Disneyland?
“Will you play Candyland with me?
“Do you like fruit roll-ups?
“Where is your lip chap stuff?
“Why? Why? Why” Why? Why?”
Then the questions stop and Peyton is up, dolling out princess stickers.
“Which one do you like? Don’t take Jasmine, I like her. Don’t take Ariel, I like her too.”
The next instant, Peyton has a color book and some felt pens. She flops down next to Cara and sings, “La, la, la, ah, ah, ah…” her voice and the screech of dried out markers fills the room.
“Cara, what color do you like?
“Do you want to color with me?
“Which one will you do first?
She is busy, busy, busy. My sister looks up with tired eyes that ask, “Will she ever stop?” I smile and look back to my book. Cara props herself against the edge of the coffee table and closes her eyes.
Peyton has changed her tune. “Oh, da, ooh, da, ooh, da…” Then, suddenly the singing stops. In an instant, the room is quiet, the child asleep.
We laugh. “I don’t know how you keep up with her,” my sister says.
“Me neither,” I reply, and I am serious. I am amazed at the endless curiosity, the tireless quest for information she exhibits. What makes a clock tick? What makes a plane fly? What do you like? Why? Often we adults fall silent, not asking questions, fearful or complacent, forgetting there is so much to learn.
My little investigator snoozing on the floor, reminds me to keep asking questions, questions that will help me better understand the world and myself, questions that open the door to endless possibility. I also realize if I keep asking I may find the answers to the endless queries of my own little seeker.
