These are the kinds of questions I answer these days: "Mommy, how heavy is a cloud?"
"I don't know, but I think it's light," I guessed. "It's just a bunch of small water droplets put together."
"I think it's 100 pounds because the milk said so," said Olivia, referring to the back of the milk cartons.
We drove up to the Pali so she could touch the fog. "We are inside a cloud now," I announced. "It's hazy and chilly. What do you think about this?"
"I thought it would be like the cartoons where you could sit on it and bounce," she said with a little disappointment. I remember doing and thinking the exact same thing at the exact same place when I was her age. My mom and her parents drove me up to the Pali and said the same things to me.
More stumpers: "Mommy, how does a bee stinger work?" "Where do belly buttons come from?" "Why can birds fly?" "What do dolphin teeth look like?"
To think, I used to sit in hours-long meetings, craft long-term strategic plans, and balance the department's budget while wearing a director's title. Yet I have no idea how to answer half the questions my six year old lobs at me. Believe me, at this age, the questions come fast and furious.
Here is a question from Mommy: Why does Olivia have endless energy that can wear out both parents and how can Mommy get some of that?