My son rounded the corner into the laundry room, an impish look on his face. “Mom, does it kind of smell like up-dog in the house?”
A flurry of thoughts ran through my brain as I paired socks from the latest clean load, and I asked a seemingly logical question: “What’s up-dog?”
“Not much, what’s up with you,” the 11-year-old replied, visibly pleased I had so easily fallen for his joke.
I laughed out loud, and it felt good.
Today, I am grateful for my son’s sense of humor.
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