How I know I’m ending up in Heaven

It was a grueling weekend. A trying weekend. A non-stop-whining, cajoling, tantruming, escalating, testing, shouting, arguing, disciplining, huffing and puffing weekend.
All members of my small family are still accounted for at the end of this weekend. For this, I should be sainted.
But, the chief reason why I am now fully qualified for a no-questions-asked pass through Heaven’s gates is that when my three-and-a-half-year-old asked me, while cataloguing various aches and pains that he’s encountered –
“Mummy, do you have a pain in your butt?”
– I held my tongue.

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