'Ask me no more questions, Tell me no more lies...'

My children ask me many, many questions for which I cannot provide honest and/or coherent answers. Partly, it’s their lack of context. We can be driving somewhere—anywhere—cousins’ house, grocery store, VBS across town, and Ben might ask, out of nowhere: “Mommy, which is meaner—white sharks or blue sharks?” Or Pearl asks: “What’s my real name?” I can answer that one. I personally chose the name (with cooperation and clearance from Will) after long, hard, laborious research. But when I provide the answer, the carefully named child stumps me by replying: “No, what’s my real name?” Huh???

Two observations:

1) The kids ask a lot of questions when we’re traveling. But time behind the wheel is also my “most likely to strike upon a brilliant solution time.” Some people’s ideal creative setting is a hot shower in a steamy bathroom. For me, it’s a lonely car on familiar roads. Half of my brain shifts into semi-auto-pilot driving mode; the other part prognosticates, envisions, deciphers, and imagines. With inquisitive preschoolers in the vehicle, my brainstorm goes haywire.

2) My real answers of “I don’t know,” “I’ll try to find out,” or “Mommy doesn’t know everything,” are generally unacceptable to my young journalists-in-training. They are evidently ill-at-ease with ambiguity. I worry about this because life is so chalk-full of uncertainties, and I wonder: When will the answer, “I’m not sure,” register as livable for my lively little people? Only God knows.