Where-ing me out

It’s become Big G’s favorite question. He asks it at least 40 times a day, often at five-minute intervals. Either he has no short-term memory, or he has a severe desire to be – not a little brother, but – a Big Brother.

It goes like this – unprompted, for no reason, he suddenly wants to know where someone is. For example, “Where’s momma at?” I reply, “In the bedroom nite-nite.” He says nothing. We go about doing whatever we’re doing. Then, about five minutes later, “Where’s momma at?”

This is especially annoying when in the van. It’ll be the wife, Gabby and I with the Grand Inquisitor, when he decides to suddenly question our whereabouts.

GAVIN: Ma-ma!

MOMMA: Yes Gavin.

GAVIN: Where daddy at?

MOMMA: Daddy’s right here driving.

GAVIN: Where mommy at?

MOMMA: I’m sitting right here.

GAVIN: Where sissy at?

MOMMA: She’s in the back seat.

GAVIN: Where Gabin at?

MOMMA: You’re right there.

GAVIN: (pause) Okay.

Wait five minutes. Repeat. Rinse. And try not to get too annoyed. Forget starting quarterback. He may just work for the CIA!


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