| Back Home | TRIVIAL PURSUITS Some days, being a mother is like being involved in an all day Trivial Pursuit tournament. And I'm losing—badly. Seriously, I never realized how much I didn't know until my children became verbal. It begins innocently enough, without warning. If I had some warning, maybe I'd stand a chance. I could get on the Internet, fingers poised to type the question into a search engine. I could have MIT on speed dial. I could hire an out of work encyclopedia salesman to come over every night for dinner. But no. We're sitting around the table having some grilled cheese when the first question comes in: "Where do pickles come from? " Okay, I'm good, I know this one: "Pickles come from cucumbers. They slice them and put them in vinegar to turn them sour." "Where do cucumbers come from? Do they grow on trees?" "Um, well, you know, I'm not sure." Quickly I search my mental memory banks. I can't believe I didn't learn anything about cucumbers in 16 years of schooling. Sure, I could quote some pretty decent passages from the Constitution but there was absolutely nothing in there about cucumbers. Vines? Did they grow on vines? It seemed likely. They were watermelon-like, weren't they? "It's okay, I'll ask Miss Barbara when I get to school." Ouch. Low blow. At first it was very flattering to be turned to as an authority on everything. I'd glow inside when I overheard those magic words "Let's ask mommy. She knows everything." Ah, for the good old days where all I had to know was how to spell horse or know where zebras came from. Where my knowledge of what makes balloons float was positively mystical. I could toss out the answer to why a light bulb was hot and barely knit my eyebrows. Those were the days, my friends. It seemed like no time at all had passed when I lost my crown as Mistress of Knowledge, knocked off my throne by hiccups. "Why do we get hiccups?" "It's because a little air bubble gets… well, I guess it gets caught in your throat.." "With your food?" "No, not that part of your throat, the air part…" I was floundering and no help was in sight. After that, it just got worse. There was the dreaded blue-sky question, the question about seven days of the week, the question about the official national flower of Mexico. If I didn't have this unreasonable thing about honesty, I could have made up some glorious answers. The sky is blue because someone spilled a coconut snow cone and you know how that stuff stains. There are seven days to a week because the king was born with only seven fingers. The national flower of Mexico is the Mexican Hat. But noooo. I have to be honest. "I don't know," I say now with great regularity. "But let's find out." And I call MIT. |
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