I glanced across the living room at my daughter and jovially asked, "Whacha doing Lizzy?" She gave me a look.
You know, the "I may have just committed a very serious crime-am I going to get away with it?" look.
I quickly scanned the living room for potential disaster. The baby was still alive-looked like he had all parts intact. No paint or food spills. No nuclear waste accumulating 10 feet from the potty.
So we stared at each other for a very long 10 seconds while I waited for an answer. Then, slowly, she put her hand up to her face, her finger up her nose, and very seriously said, "Picking my nose."