This is a transcript of an actual encounter I had with my son this evening. I wish I was making it up, but alas, this very Peter Griffin moment needs no exaggeration.
Jack comes running into the kitchen, where I am, and looks at the fireplace in the family room.
Jack: "Mommy, you need to put our stockings up on the thing!"
Me: "I will. Now go to bed, Dad's waiting for you."
Jack runs away, but I call after him. He stops at the front door and turns around to look at me.
Me: "Good night, honey. I love you!"
Jack just stares.
Me: "I love you, Jack."
Jack stares and starts to smile.
Me: "Do you love me?"
Vic (upstairs): "Tell Mom good night and tell her you love her." (We encourage total sincerity in our home, as you can clearly tell.)
Jack smiles bigger.
I wait. A few seconds later, I hear something.
Jack's butt: "Vrrrrrrrrrrrrr."
Jack laughs and runs upstairs, where his father undoubtedly (but quietly) praises him for such well-timed punctuation.