When I took this job, one of the pieces of advice I got was to write about my children no more than twice a year. It seems many of my colleagues felt that columnists tend to think their children are cuter and funnier than they actually are. (Imagine that!)

Well, I have yet to write a column about my children, and I am on vacation as you read this. So, I think I'm gonna cash in one of my child chips this week.

I submit that the hardest part of being a parent is not staying awake half the night when they're sick, constantly picking up after them or any of that stuff. For me, the hardest work is answering questions.

For Alexis, my 2-year-old, the problem is the repetition. In her entire life, she has only asked me two questions:

"Daddy, what doing?" and "Daddy, where Mommy?"

But she has asked me each of those questions 200,000 times.

On the other hand, Ariana, my 4-year-old, comes out with a dizzying array of questions that often leaves me speechless.

"Daddy, when I grow up, can we have a picnic on the moon?"

"Daddy, did you know that in China they can eat all the treats they want?"

"Daddy, can I have a slumber party tonight?" (Asked 15 minutes after her bedtime.)

"Daddy, why did God make germs?"

"Do we get birthday cake?" (after I explained that Christmas is Jesus' birthday.)

"You mean, when I was 3?" (after I explained that Jesus died a long time ago.)

"Four?" (not really a question but a guess after I asked her how old she thought I was; she was 3 at the time.)

"Daddy, when I'm 7, will I go to high school?"

"Daddy, why do I have to go to bed?" (Now, that's a question I can answer -- so I can stop answering questions.)