My husband and the boys bought me a St. Louis Cardinal’s sock monkey as a Mother’s Day present, and the little guy rides beside me on the front seat of our truck. Sometimes, he even snuggles in my lap. But the other morning I needed to clear the fog from the inside of my windshield, and he was the first bit of cloth I could get my hands on.
“Mom,” Younger ventured, casting a sideways glance at me as I swiped at the glass with the doubled-over monkey. “Does Dad know you do that?”
Exhausted, and a bit sick, I grumbled, “I don’t know what your dad knows.” But then, repentant for the snarky response, I added, “Actually, I think your dad is the kind of man who would take a certain amount of pride in admitting that his wife cleans her windows with a monkey’s butt.”
Younger grinned. “There is that.”
We’re not a family that will ever survive on our dignity.
But laughter will keep us fine.