And then Sister says to me, "Mom, why is Brother always asking you 'why?'?"

I ponder this thought, and I cannot keep a smirk from my face, as this has turned into my daughter's favorite word for the last, oh, solid 18 months. Why?

"Why is the sky blue, Mama?"

"Why does Mary Frances at school make wrong choices, Mama?"

"Why do I have to taste my broccoli, Mama?"

"Why?"

She stares intently back at me in the rearview mirror and says, "Why are you laughing, Mama?"

"Oh, no reason, I suppose."

Brother continues to annihilate his breakfast, leaving large sugary crumbs on the backseat of the car to be ground in at a later date. Only the sounds of the Spanish language children's CD fill the cabin of our car for a brief nanosecond, until Sister says, "Mama, why is it that my cousin goes to school only 2 days a week and Brother and I go every day?"

That's question number 3 of the 18-minute car ride. And I answer, "Well, honey, because your aunt doesn't work a full time job, and I do."

"Why?" (That's 4.)

"Well, because we have more bills to pay, I guess."

That satisfies her little mind for a moment, and she stares out the window of the car.

"Mama?" Sister asks.

"Yes, baby?"

"Why do some people speak Spanish and we don't?" (Numero cinco.)

I ponder this question and decide to skip the whole Tower of Babel story and just go with my stock answer on matters such as these: "Well, because that's the way God made us." Some days that works, and others, it's not so good. It seems to placate her today.

And Brother still chews.

As we pass a pasture of livestock at the halfway point in our journey, questions six, seven, eight and nine have to do with the intricate differences between horses, colts, foals and ponies, including why they look furrier in the winter than they do in the summer.

Brother comments on the horses. “Look, Sister! Cows!”

“Those aren’t cows, Brother,” she says matter-of-factly. “Those are horses. And ponies.”

Questions ten, eleven, and twelve focus on playground prohibitions, temper tantrums, and general angst felt by K4 students at day school. Campus draws closer as we pass mile seven on our daily trek, fourteen minutes into the journey. The toaster pastry is history, and Brother begins to chug the milk in his sippy cup.

“Mama?” Sister says.

“Yes, dear?”

“Why is it that moms have to work at the office and then have to work at home, but dads just have to work at the office?”

Now, that was an amazing Question 13, wouldn’t you agree? I took the Fifth.

Why dads sleep in their underwear, why dads have hair on their backs but none on their heads, and why dads smell funny when they wake up rounded out questions 14, 15, and 16. We turned the corner for the final stretch to school. Only 45 seconds remained in our journey, and for a moment, there was silence.

Then Brother exploded: “Why is this car seat hurting my bottom?” he bellowed at the top of his lungs, turning a Donnie Osmond shade of purple in the process.

I turned to look at my Terrible Two, who apparently had been sitting in a partially upright position for the entire 10-mile jaunt, an overnight growth spurt having left him at least an inch less space in his tiny confines. My aching heart reached out to him, and I said, “I guess you grew over the weekend, Brother.”

Luckily we pulled into the parking lot without too much more fanfare from the pinched and scrunched boy. As I leapt from the driver’s side to run around and free my child from his seat, he did an excellent job of getting himself under control.

Unleashed from her booster, Sister turned and looked at me, as serious as she could be, and said, “See, I told you Brother is always asking why.”

On my lunch hour, I went and purchased a bigger safety seat for Brother. $69.99 left the old wallet, but I gained the satisfaction that there’s one less “why” question for me to answer for at least another year.