I was getting ready on Mother's Day when this little incident occurred...
Squib: What happened?
Me: I burned my finger on my curling iron.
(Please don't ask why I was wrestling with that ancient thing and just go with it).
Squib: Which finger did you burn?
He was so interested at this point that he broke full contact with "Go, Diego, Go" to come and check this out. Level of importance = 10.
Me: This one. (I pointed to my ring finger).
Squib: Oh (relieved, his little chest deflated), that's not the important finger.
The important finger?
I think I know which finger that is, but quite honestly I wasn't in the mood to have him share the "important finger" discovery at 7:15 on the morning of Mother's Day when I was quite obviously running late and not in a really good position to discuss whether or not five-year-old's should or should not be having "important fingers" at their ripe old age.
So...bad parenting moment #3,462. Shoot me.
And note to self: at some point get back to "the important finger."