Questions, questions, questions!

Gavin and I have this little ritual of sorts.  When he wakes up in the morning (which is usually way earlier than I would like for him to wake up), he comes into my room, climbs into my bed, and snuggles up next to me.  Usually, Buzz, Woody, and up to six other toys snuggle up with us.  Not so comfy, but I've learned to adjust.  I would love to say that he snuggles up next to me and falls back asleep, but that is far from what takes place.  Instead, after laying still for all of five seconds, he begins hammering me with questions.  Oh, they're often cute and funny, but my brain is usually not ready for such at workout at this time of day.  The fact is, I don't know the answers to half of the questions he asks, so I just have to make stuff up.  And, it has to sound good too, or he just keeps asking me.

This morning, the first words out of his mouth were, "Momma, is Paws sleeping?"  Now, if you don't know who Paws is, he's the mascot for the Detroit Tigers.  Paws has been an object of my son's obsession for a few months now, and this obsession was fed by the fact that he's been to two Tigers' games already this season.  My response to this is, "Yes, honey, Paws is sleeping."  What I'm thinking in my head is: It's 5:30 in the morning.  A lot of people are still sleeping, except you.  Does he stop there, roll over, lay quietly, and let Mommy get a little more rest.  No way.  We've only just begun.

Image c/o www.mlb.com

"Mommy, is Paws tired?"

"Yes, honey, he's tired."  Of course he's tired.  It's 5:30 a.m.

"Mommy, does Paws have hot cocoa when he wakes up."

"Probably."  Probably not.  He's a grown man in a tiger costume.  If he drinks hot cocoa every morning when he wakes up, I'm concerned.

"Mommy, does Paws sleep with his hat on?"

"Yes, honey."  Well, I believe the hat is permanently attached to his costume.  So, if the freak sleeps in the costume every night then, yes.  Yes, he sleeps with his hat on.

"Mommy, does Paws wear a hat because he's a boy."

"Paws wears a hat because he likes to."  There isn't a rule that says only boys can wear hats, kid.  Plus, it's part of his costume.  He has to wear the hat.

And on, and on, and on we went for well over 20 minutes, before I finally said, "Hey, let's go get some breakfast."  And now, my brain hurts, like it does almost every morning.  In these early morning chats, we've discussed topics ranging from whether or not fans (ceiling fans) can fly to why the grass is thirsty to why we can't just wear our underwear out in public.  Most of the time, I can't really explain in three-year-old language why the grass needs water.  It just does.  Gavin, however, is not a fan of the "It just does" response, so I shamelessly lie.  Too bad it doesn't buy me any more sleep time.