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 (start) the day. My five-year-old son overheard me and asked what "drop the ball" meant. I told him it was just something like making a mistake. A few minutes later, he came into our bedroom (hold) an overflowing coffee cup with a dishcloth underneath it to catch the drops. He said to my husband, "You dropped the ball, but I picked the ball up," and he handed me the worst-tasting, most watered-down but (sweet) cup of coffee ever.
