The other day, as we were sitting at a restaurant waiting for our food to arrive, my youngest son walked around me to climb into my wife’s lap.

“Hey,” I said. “What’s wrong with my lap?”

It’s not that I’m competing, mind you, but sitting on my knee is much more fun than sitting on momma’s. My knee bounces and jiggles, and comes with a whole assortment of train and jet plane noises.

He stopped mid-climb, but his momma pulled him the rest of the way up.

“Well,” he said, gesturing with his little arms. “Her lap is bigger.”

His momma’s mouth dropped open.

“And softer?” I prompted.

“Yeah,” he said, snuggling in to her chest.

His mom wrapped her arms around him and stuck her tongue out at me. “I can live with that.”

Me too, I guess.

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