Boo has to have all the answers. To everything. Or so it seems. Maybe this is common for a 6 year old, I don't know. By 4:00, I'm tired of being googled and wikepediad all day long. One of his series of questions involves how: as in how loud, big, strong, long, happy, hungry, far ...something, anything is.
This morning, he was giggling in the rec room, dropping a gym matte to hear it thud. Over and over. Each time, he'd ask his dad, "How loud was that, dad?" Even Buddha would get tired of his repeated questions. But unlike me, he wouldn't yell; just answer his question with a question, I am sure. So my husband, who, were he not a Christian, would no doubt be totally Zen, answers his son's query with, "Son, you ask me that often. Why do you ask me how loud something is?"
[You may have read that last question in your mind with a fake David Carradine "Kung Fu" accent, but my hubs is a Swiss-German-Scotch Irish lilly white American!]
Boo's answer to his dad was, "It's an expewiment."