The other evening I was alone in the house with my youngest when I dropped something. It wasn’t a particularly important something, but it was a something that you would expect to break when it hit the tile floor. It didn’t.

“Whew,” the little guy said. “That was close.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, picking up the something. “Momma would have been really mad.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “She would have given you the finger.”

“What?”

He wagged his finger at me. “The finger! She would have given you the finger!”

For those just tuning in, my wife tends to wag her finger when she gets angry (click here for details). Her index finger appears to grow a few inches when she does this, and becomes, in all honesty, quite a scary thing.

We continued cooking dinner, setting the table, feeding the dogs, and doing all the other pre-dinner chores that need to be done. We played. We read. We chatted. We wondered where the rest of our family was.

“They’re late.” He announced at one point.

“Yep,” I agreed.

“I know!” he said, excited. “Let’s give them the finger when they get home!”

So we did.

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