Knives Cut...

Recently Daniel was helping me unload the dishwasher, a morning chore he insists upon assisting me with, rapidly increasing the dish removal process, if only to a higher place on the counter, when his tiny hands laid hold of a knife before the foresight of mommy and siblings had caught up. The ensuing uproar from everyone so impressed upon his little mind the severity of knife grabbing that it could only be eased by a litany of all those who could also be injured by such actions.

"Knive cut Daniel." "Yes, Daniel." "Knive cut A-belle." "Yes Daniel, knives cut Isabelle." "Knive cut Peeee!" "Yes Daniel!" And so the morning went, through one side of the family and the other, friends, neighbors and priests, they could all be cut by knives. "Even Uncle Matty!" declared Isabelle with a note of finality.

Occasionally now the litany must be revived, I assume to squash any temptations developing in the back of Daniel's little mind. These revivals seem to have caused Peter to need to distinguish himself from the crowds of defenseless knife victims, which resulted in the following conversation.

Daniel: (with grave intensity) "Knive cut Pee"
Mommy: (with mirrored grave intensity) "Yes, Daniel, knives can cut Peter."
Peter: (matter-of-factually) "No, Daniel, a knife would not cut me because I wouldn't touch it."
Mommy: (trying to maintain the original point) "Yes, Peter, BUT if you did touch it..." (with returned gravity) "a knife would cut Peter."
Peter: (indifferent to our gravity) "No, a knife wouldn't cut me because I would only touch the handle."
Mommy: "Yes, Peter, BUT..." (turning to Daniel) "A knife could cut Peter."
Peter: (now frustrated by my obvious ignorance) "But it wouldn't cut me because I would only touch the blade very gently."

Perhaps I should have reacted more intensely when Peter touched his first knife.