I don’t understand why, if the whole floor is clean except for one book, Alex has to step on it.
I don’t understand the wanton destruction wreaked by three children on a play date. Mess is one thing, but to simply run around and sweep everything off the shelves, dump every single item out of its container, not to play with it, but just to dump it?
I don’t understand how the shoes with the $200 inserts, that Julianna was wearing at 11:30a.m., can vanish from the face of the earth by the end of nap.
I don’t understand how Alex can be the loudest thing on the block, and still think any time the music starts at church, or someone is scolding him, he covers his ears because it’s “too loud.”
I don’t understand how Alex thinks that when Nicholas is crying, getting two inches from his face and shouting as loudly as he possibly can is going to make him feel better. (See above.)
I don’t understand how it can take him an hour (literally) to put on his underwear in the morning, and yet he can run upstairs, change into his entire Superman ensemble, and be back downstairs in thirty seconds (also literally).
I don’t understand why every establishment thinks they have to play REALLY LOUD music—or music at all, frankly. It’s not like anybody’s listening to it. And the kids are already screaming; why make them scream louder to be heard over top of REALLY LOUD MUSIC?
I don’t understand how a baby who sleeps through screaming, shouting, complaining, and being pummeled in his bouncy during the day gets overstimulated at 8p.m. and can’t get to sleep for an hour (or more).
I don’t understand how, even though frequently they make me so frantic I can hardly breathe, I love them so much.
Some things will forever remain a mystery.
(p.s. The shoes were buried underneath the cloth diapers in the drawer. Sneaky, huh?)