The other day, I noticed my nine-year old watching his momma fry eggs. He’s curious about cooking these days, and is helping out whenever he can. One of the things he hasn’t quite mastered yet is flipping eggs.

“Wow,” he said when she flipped one of the eggs over. “You’re good at that.”

She smiled. “Aunt Helene showed me the trick. You have to let ’em know you’re the boss. Slide the spatula hard and fast.”

“Oh,” he said. “She must be really good.”

She flipped another one over.

“Do you wish you were as good as she is?”

Suddenly, Momma’s smile was gone. “What?”

“Um, you know,” he backed up a step. “As good as Aunt Helene?”

I couldn’t help it. I chuckled.

My wife’s eyes shifted from my son to me, and turned decidedly less friendly.

One of these days, I’m going to learn how to stay quiet.