My name is Amos.

I have a way of finding a mud puddle.

As soon as my mom looks away, I make a beeline.

“Ohhhhhh, Amos,” she says.

What?

I don’t know why it bothers her.

It’s not her feet that are sloshing around in church shoes.

It doesn’t bother me a bit.

Well, maybe a teensy amount.

I do like when my mom pretends to scold me though.

She’s such a faker.

Love, Amos