Our boys love to play fight with Daddy. He barely makes it through the door at the end of a looooong day before "Daddy play fight!" echoes through the house. He sighs. He's tired. I don't blame him. He's hungry. I really don't blame him. And yet, that good man musters the energy, let's out a roar and plunges into playing fight. Sometimes he is a good guy, sometimes he is a bad guy. Jackson dictates. He's like that. There's lots of squealing and running and weapon noises and all things "boy" going on. I usually sit back and enjoy (and by that I mean I do the dishes, clean the kitchen, pack Jackson's lunch, and drink a glass of vino). And there are weapons. The boys turn everything they own into weapons - train tracks, tinker toys, tent spikes, you name it - it is a weapon. Never mind that we own one toy gun - a water gun at that. They'll make a weapon out of twin and glitter if they have to.
Last night's play fight conversation:
Daddy: Holden, what are your weapons of choice?!
Holden: (deeply thinking) A waterproof gun (of course) and...Popsicles!
Daddy: What are the Popsicles for?
Holden: (having a "Duh!" moment) To EAT!