Remember the Butts, Mom?

When my oldest was small, probably around 3 or 4, we were at the family pub one afternoon, enjoying some live music and cold beverages.

There was a sign next to a planter box on the patio that said: "Please, no cigarette butts."

My little guy interpreted this to mean: "Please, no cigarette idiots may hang out here."

So when he saw a man smoking on the patio, he said: "Mommy, that cigarette butt isn't supposed to be smoking out here!"

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He's fourteen now, and just reminded me of this story last night.  I had forgotten it.

And that is how I came to chuckle and smile on a day that was otherwise filled with a broken washing machine, a flooded garage, mountains of laundry, too much homework, too much chore-resistance, not nearly enough time, and a house strewn with debris from our kitchen garbage can, spread liberally about by a dog who apparently needs more exercise.

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Take those moments where you find them, friends.

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