Many years ago, back when my wife and I were still yet to be married, we developed the habit of saying “love you more.” It was a cute(ish) little romantic thing. Whenever one of us would say “love you” the other would answer “love you more.”

At this point, I’m willing to bet that you’re probably either rolling your eyes or muttering. It was no big deal, though, just something we did. Over the course of 13 years of marriage, it turned into a habit, something we don’t think too much about.

As we were dropping my wife off at the airport prior to her last trip to Texas, howeve, this harmless habit delivered quite a payoff. My wife was standing on the curb at the airport, her luggage piled around her, as I started to pull away.

“Wait, wait!” my six-year old shouted. “Wait!”

I stopped and looked back, thinking his seatbelt wasn’t hooked or something.

“Open the window, dad. Quick!”

I hit the button to open the window.

“Mom,” he shouted. “Mom, come back!”

She stepped closer to the car, “what is it? What’s wrong?”

“Love you more, Mom! Love you more!”

His little brother waved. “Me too, mom! Me too. Love you more!”

She laughed and waved back. “No, I love you more!”

“No, we do!”

What could I do? Well, pretty much the same as you. I rolled my eyes and muttered.