My little one (age 11) occasionally has these contemplative moments where she's worried about us dying (after all, 44 and 52 are ancient in a tween's eyes). Last night, we got into the conversation of how she's concerned that she won't be there for me when I pass away (as in, literally there).

In perfect seriousness, she takes my hand during the conversation and says earnestly, "Mommy, I think more about you getting older than about Daddy, because you have more wrinkles than him."