My Favorite Barista

One morning, I told my husband jokingly that he’d dropped the ball because he hadn’t made me coffee and I was having trouble getting motivated to start the day. My five-year-old son overheard me and asked me to explain what “dropped the ball” meant. A few minutes later, he came into our bedroom holding an overflowing coffee mug with a dishcloth underneath it to catch the drips. He said to my husband, “You dropped the ball, but I picked the ball up,” and he handed me the worst-tasting, most watereddown but sweetest cup of coffee ever.

—Jennifer Stockberger mount vernon, ohio