They came inside for apples and cheese.

And Tang.

(And if Tang doesn’t take you back a few years, I don’t know what will.  Hubs discovered it on the shelf at the grocery store last weekend, and he said that he needed to buy some in order to revisit his childhood.  Today, when I offered to make Tang for the boys, they asked me what it was.  They marveled over the small fact that it once quenched the thirsts of astronauts.)

They ran outside.  They collected sticks and fought enormous battles with them, and they climbed really tall things so that they could simply jump down.  They threw rocks, they wrestled one another to the ground, and they sat in a huddle in the dirt, examining something. Something which I guessed to be in the BUGS category.  By the time dusk settled in and they all broke apart to head home, they were covered in dirt and grime and wide, toothy smiles.  I was reminded of John Eldredge’s book, Wild at Heart, where every small boy wants to have an adventure.

An adventure that necessitates that his mama has a giant jug of Tide on hand in her laundry room, as well as a bottle of powerful stain remover.

As I listened to them whooping and hollering and screeching with joy outside this afternoon, I realized that some of our very happiest times happen when our house is filled with boys.

Small boys absolutely rock!

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