As we were finishing up dinner tonight, Rob and I got in a rare theological discussion about the afterlife. While we debated what heaven would be like – a conversation that managed to touch on the Twilight Zone, earth-worship, and church camp in the span of five minutes – Harper ate chili and talked to her reflection in the kitchen window, largely ignoring us. We were ignoring her, too, until she started frantically slapping the top of her head with one hand and her stomach with the other. Then she stopped, switched hands, and started rubbing, just as frantically. We looked at her, startled, and Rob said, “Harper? What are you doing?”
“I’m just,” she said, matter-of-factly, “I’m just patting my head and rubbing my tummy.” We decided that heaven could wait, and went to put up the Christmas tree.