Curiosity Killed the Mummy

I don't like to lie to my kids.  Okay, so occasionally I do lie to them, (all major holidays and the ultimate fate of baby teeth come to mind) but for the most part, I try to be honest with them.  Today, however, Sam just kept pushing me and pushing me!  We have entered the stage of the endless questions and it just might be the death of me.  Crawling wasn't, potty training wasn't, but these stinkin stankin questions just might do me in!  Here are two (of at least a million) examples:
First, we were driving home from the mall and Sam must of seen some sort of restaurant.  I don't know, I didn't see it.  She wanted to know what that restaurant was called.  I, of course, went with the truth.
"I don't know, Sam.  I didn't see one."
"MOM!  What was that restaurant called?!"
"I'm sorry, Sam, I don't know what you're talking about."
"The rest-au-rant.  Out the window.  Back there.  I need to know what it was called!?"
"Sam, I'm sorry you're upset, but I don't know what the restaurant was called, I didn't see it, honey."
Starting to cry now "Mom.  I just REALLY need to know what it was called.  It was back there.  Out the window.  A restaurant."
Okay, I was desperate.  I had to stop the flood of questions, and now the flood of tears, or soon both of us would be crying.  She was freaking over nothing, and she was spiraling out of control.  So, I made something up.
"Fredericks Restaurant, Sam.  That's what it was."
"What?"
"Fredericks Restaurant."
"Fed-er-icks?"
"Yes."
Tears stopped.  Cheerfulness returned. And then...
"Mom.  What food do they have at Fed-er-icks Restaurant?"
Is she serious?
"I don't know, Sam.  I've never eaten there."
"Oh.  Why haven't you eaten there?"
At this point, I remember feeling a twitch in my eye, and the rest of the drive home is a vague blur.  I think I might of promised her a pony if she just stopped bugging me.  I'd hope not, but I can pretty much guarantee she didn't stop, so it's not like I'm in the market for a stable.

About a thousand questions later, it was time for bed.  I read her a Halloween story about a pig and his little sister who put together a haunted house in the garage.  A few pages into it, Sam gets all panicky and goes "Mom, why is their mom mean to them?"
"Sam, I don't know what you're talking about.  What makes you think their mom is mean?"  There has been no mention of their mom at this point in the story at all.
"Mom, you just read that they had a scary Mommy in the garage!"
"Whoops.  No, Sam.  A mummy.  A mummy is a pretend monster wrapped in bandages, or in this case, toilet paper.  Not a MOMMY.  Their mommy is perfectly nice."
"Oh.  A mummy.  So, how do you know their mommy is nice?"
"I'm sure she is."
"If she's nice, then where is she?"
I must admit, I constantly wonder where the parents are in books when kids are doing insanely large projects apparently unsupervised.  Of course, that doesn't mean I have a three-year-old ready answer for one of life's great questions.  So, I went with the easiest answer.  "She's in the house."
"Why is she in the house and not helping?  What is she doing in there?"
I heaved a huge sigh.  "She's probably watching TV because she thinks the kids are taking naps."
Why not let art imitate life, it's not like I have a clue what she's really doing!?
Sam, apparently, was perfectly satisfied with this.  "Oh, okay!  Thanks."
Ahhh, "watching TV" is now going to be my go to response.
Don't judge me. Like I said, the questions are killing me.