Asher came to me with a bloody fingertip, wailing, “I have a crack! The knife cracked my finger!”
I love his use of the word crack!
The damage wasn’t severe, just a small cut (er, crack) next to his nail. The cut was so small that I was very surprised to see the knife- a large, serrated steak knife- that caused it. The damage could have been much, much worse.
Asher never believes me when I tell him that something is dangerous. If I say it’s hot, he wants to touch it anyway. If I say he could get hurt, he wants to see if I’m right about that. If I ask him not to jump from his high perch, he jumps anyway and then points out, “See, I jumped off there and it didn’t kill me!” If I tell him that the spiders in the window well are poisonous, he tries to catch them. Telling Asher that something is dangerous, only seems to make the dangerous act even more appealing to him.
So I took the opportunity to give a little see-I-told-you-so-now-please-listen-to-mommy lecture about the knife.
“Asher, do you understand now that knives are dangerous?” I asked as I held a rag against his bleeding finger. ”This knife hurt you because you played with it. You shouldn’t touch knives. Knives will hurt you-”
Without missing a beat, Asher interrupted and said flippantly, “But, Mom, this doesn’t hurt.”
His tone made it clear that he knows that knives aren’t really as dangerous as I claim they are. Silly old Mom and her crazy overreactions…
Oh, this boy… 
