Every once in awhile, my boys stop fighting for a minute. Outside they go, and if I’m lucky, I get invited to come.
They swing on the swings, and don’t argue over who gets to sit where.
They climb to places they shouldn’t, and no one tattles.
They run barefooted through the grass and no one gets tackled, stung by a bee, or steps in dog poo. For a few moments, they are just brothers that love each other and want to play together, and all is right in my world.
Then someone takes a knee to the head and it all goes to hell in a handbasket.
