Fingers

She wants to know how old people are.

"Who is two?" She asks at dinner, holding two fingers high in the air. "Daddy, who is two?"

We used to just start naming off people who were two. "Esme's two; Basil's two; Alden's two; etc."

Then, she'd change the game.

"Is Asher two?" She'd say with a smile on her face.

"No, Tahlia," We'd correct with mock dismay, often, our hands on our foreheads as we shook our heads, "Asher's zero." We'd show her how to make a fist.

"Is Rachel two?" Again, the smile.

Again, our dismay, "Oh Tahlia," we'd state, "Rachel's one." We'd hold up one finger.

Now, the game is more complex.

She's learned how to show how old Daddy is (hold up three fingers on this hand, five fingers on that hand), and how old Mommy is (hold up three fingers on that hand, and two fingers on this hand). When pressed this past weekend about how old Grandma is, she said three. Opa and Grampa are thirty five just like Daddy. Nona, Nanny, Aunt Christine, Aunt Becky, Aunt Devra and Aunt Paola are all thirty two, just like Mommy. Suki is ten (all fingers held up). She knows who is two, one, five, and four. She works, continually, to force her little fingers to show this many fingers.

So now, the game . . .

"Who is two?"

"Ah. . . I think Asher is two."

"No, Daddy." Exasperation. "Asher's zero." She holds up a fist.

"Oh. I think Miriam is two."

"No, Daddy! Miriam is five." All five fingers held high.

"Right. Right. I think that Sam is two."

"No, no, no Daddy. Sam is three." The thumb carefully finds the pinky so that the index, ring and "longman" stand proud.

"Oh. I think that Daddy is two."

"No, Daddy this old." She holds up three fingers on her right hand and five fingers on her left hand.

This game started months ago, and has slowly developed into one of those things. How old. How old. Funny to think that as she ages, no longer will the fascination be with how old people are, but how young.