The Bird

Last night, L and I were sitting at the dinner table enjoying a quiet meal with just the two of us. We were chatting about school and life and the riots in Egypt, when she said, “Hey, Mom, this means you don’t love God.”

My eyebrows shot up as I watched her try and form her fingers into whatever formation it was that meant a person doesn’t love God. After a brief moment of uncertainty, she finally achieved the look she was going for and held up her hand proudly. Basically, she was flipping me off.

I stifled a grin and asked, “Who showed you that?”

“Alex did. But, Kaitlynn told me that it meant you don’t love God.”

I carefully folded my napkin and laid it beside my plate, trying to decide how best to respond to this. I said, “Well, it doesn’t mean that you don’t love God. However, it is not a nice thing to do. It’s a gesture that people use when they are angry at someone and they want to show how angry they are. But, it is rude and you shouldn’t do it. Maybe Kaitlynn meant that when you love God, you want to be kind and do good, and holding up your finger like that isn’t being good.”

“Oh.”

“You know, L, in some cultures -- do you know what a culture is?”

Head shake.

“It’s a group of people --“

“Stop talking. I don’t want to know anymore.”

“Um...okay.”

And that was that. At least for a while.

Later, L and Z were playing together, which always ends in fighting together. I interrupted a barrage of “you’re a poopie-head, no, I’m not, you are, no, you are, no, you are” and tried to figure out who was truly the poopie-head. I decided it was L and told her to stop fighting with her brother and be nice.

The poopie-head looked up at me and said, “Oh, yeah? Well, then I’m going to do this to you!”

And she flipped me off.

So help me, all I could do was laugh. I tried not to, but I couldn’t help it. I laughed until I had to bend over and grab the back of the couch for support. L was cracking up, too, and Z joined in though he had no idea why.

When I recovered somewhat I told L that, while I laughed, she really, really didn’t need to do that anymore.

She said, “You mean don’t do it at anyone else’s house?”

I responded very quickly, “No, please, no, don’t ever -- EVER -- do that at someone else’s house. Or school. Or church. Please. I beg of you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

This morning, as we were clearing the breakfast dishes, L showed her father her new gesture.

“L,” I warned, “we talked about that, didn’t we?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she replied.

“And what did we decide about that?” I asked.

“We decided that when I do that, you laugh.”

Touche, poopie-head.