Marx cautioned our little angel that if he did not watch where he was going, he could bang into things and get hurt. (I view a certain amount of bumps, bruises, and things crashed into as the normal things of childhood, and better that he should run inside, within certain guidelines, than not get to run at all. We have no backyard.)
Little Fayoumis got up and walked sedately from the room.
marxdarx got up, and, not quite watching where his foot was, banged it painfully into the coffee table.
I almost managed to contain it. It was contained, but I'm sure a little slipped out around the cracks in my tone of voice, when he said, "Not. A. Word." and I replied, "A word."