So many questions

Kids ask a truly staggering amount of questions all the live long day. Who are your top 5 favorite bands? What’s your favorite country we’ve been to? (This gets asked every week, I think.) Would we go back home if someone died? How do you spell “finally?” When did School of Rock come out in the theater? What is 86 degrees in Celsius? And on and on and on.

Literally a question asked today: “Who do you think had the smelliest farts in our family two years ago?” Ari answered: zebras. Not zebras, duh! They’re not in our family! Well, zebras have bad smelling farts! (We learned this in Namibia.) But they’re not in our family, it doesn’t count. Also, two years ago? The correct answer? Mona.

Yes, it’s terrific that they are inquisitive. And, sometimes…just look it up. Or figure it out. Or move on. OHMYGOD. So, tonight is “quiet night.” No noise. No questions. No conversation.

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Driving in Turkey makes me lose track of time. With this Fiat stick shift, I have to focus so much on changing gears there’s little leftover attention to steal. Josh was sitting next to me today, finishing Percy Jackson aloud and I registered maybe 60% of what he was reading. My mind was elsewhere: how I wanted to remember the field of red poppies, estimating the women hand-cutting grasses on the side of the road to be about my age, hoping Anthony Edwards will be able manage his wealth and fame, and wondering if depressing the clutch while coasting damages the car.

I guess it’s the same as the kids asking a million questions, I just think mine and then write it down later. Do you think I’ll remember how this poppy field looks? Are those women my age? Will Anthony Edwards be okay when he gets rich and famous? Does it hurt the car if I keep the clutch down?