Dinner with the wild men

I'm a little teary-eyed after our Sunday dinner with the boys. Little Dog insisted on showing us that while he is big, he is not big enough to knock the wall down with his punches. After this he insisted that we each demonstrate our own punching power. It turns out that none of us are powerful enough to knock the walls down. We have all agreed this is a good thing since knocking the walls down would make the house fall down and since we live here, that would be a bad deal. After our wall punching experiment, Big Dog and Little Dog kept popping up to once again demonstrate a punch that, while powerful, was not powerful enough to put our shelter in danger. Once he returned to his seat, Little Dog sat banging his fists against his thighs. When we asked what he was doing, he told us it was how he kept his fist strong. It was how his fists talked.

And while this was all silly and rambunctious in the way only 3 and 6 year-olds can be, I'm already thinking about the day when they'll be too cool for this kind of crazy. They'll turn into sulky teenagers who eat in silence as I try to draw any detail about their day out of their tightly sealed lips. I remember how I was as a teenager and I am fearful for the payback I have earned.

Until then, I'm trying to bask in their exuberance the way you'd sop up really tasty sauce with a nice chunk of bread, wiping the plate clean in the process of your enjoyment. I love them so much.