Sunday mornings in the Paulsen House involves some critical timing. Let the kids sleep long enough to not be grumpy, but not too long, in order to ensure enough time for pre-church food intake and personal hygiene. A delicate balance.

Turns out that 8am is that sweet spot. Just enough sleep, just enough time to roll into church right as the music starts.

So this morning, I wandered into my 12-year-old son Sam’s room at 8:01. Announcing my presence, Sam slightly stirred awake. Not sure of what day it was, he remarked this uncertainty, “We go to church today?” In my overly chipper morning parental role, I responded, “Yep, God don’t take Sundays off.”

Overhearing me down the hall, my wife chuckled. A genuine chuckle.

After so many years, my poor wife has heard all of my jokes. All of my stories. My delivery is all too familiar. Even new jokes all have their punchlines land in a similar place.

So to get a chuckle, a genuine chuckle, that’s really nice. It means that the material was decent, but above all, the timing was just right. Just like Sunday mornings.