They came with shoes caked with dust and mud. They came with bare feet layered in shadows of the day. They came on all fours, stopped in their tracks and scratched for a while. There was a nap. There were LEGO blocks stretched to every corner.
And so began the life of our new area rug. It was both the journey and the destination, and it lay quietly upon the cold floor providing a square of warmth on a crisp autumn day. Seriously, it was only 80 degrees outside. Where are we, Alaska?
The rug absorbed more traffic in one day than a Los Angeles freeway, and it continued to do so day after day while I hovered above it, worrying, like my mother hovers above everything, worrying.
“Careful of the rug,” I said. Often.
“Knock knock,” said my son.
“Who is there?” I asked.
“What did the rug say to the floor?” he answered. His knock-knock jokes tend to take hard turns.
“What did the rug say to the floor who?” I replied.
“No, not who! Just what it said.”
“What who said?”
“The rug! What did the rug say to the floor?”
“Don’t move, I’ve got you covered!” and then we laughed for different reasons.
The rug didn’t even flinch as the comedian took his bows upon it.
Read more from Whit Honea at his site Honea Express and the popular group blog DadCentric. You can follow Whit on the Twitter or Pinterest (his opinions are his own and do not reflect those of Babble or most rational people).
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