My sister lives on 20 acres in the woods. Our five kids love running around on it as adventurous explorers. A summer or two ago my sister herded the kids from the woods to her truck to take them somewhere. The fact that she seems to always have a stick of deodorant in the car shows this wasn’t the first time she had unwittingly trapped herself with playful pubescent children in a confined space.
The story goes like this: Aunt Katie announced that they all stunk and tossed the deodorant to the back. The kids took turns, passing it around (please no comments on hygiene. I wasn’t there and I can’t care). When my son got it, he took the lid off the deodorant and began rubbing the stick all over his thighs. His cousin looked at him and said, ‘DUDE! It goes under your arms!’ So, my boy obediently redirected his thorough application and passed it on.
This story cracks me up every time I think about it. My favorite thing about it is that my son tells it as often as anyone else. He just shakes his head laughing at himself. It seems never once was he embarrassed or had his feelings hurt by the retelling of the story from different perspectives. He did something silly. So funny, really. But no one made him feel shamed for it. It just tickles me that we have such a super family where laughter rings, but the love reigns.