"Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred." - Alfred, Lord Tennyson, The Charge of the Light Brigade
Maeve is at the age, not where she is constantly pestering me with questions about why, but where I am constantly tempted to ask her, WHY? Why would you do that?
Why would you try to put water in there? Why would you pee on the floor, two feet from the toilet? Why did you think green food coloring would taste good? Why did you put the seed up your nose? Why would you try to climb your bookshelf to get something off a high shelf that I'm perfectly happy to get down for you? Why are you trying to fit in the same cabinet as my ceramic cookware? WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME???
I try not to ask. Because there is no answer. She will tell me, Because I have to. Which is not a useful answer. The real answer is, because it occurred to her to do it, and nothing in her brain told her it was going to be a bad idea. So I give up. Mine is not to reason why. Mine is just to clean up the mess afterward and explain to the child why, in hindsight, her plan had flaws.