Yesterday, while I was getting dinner ready, my father (bless your heart Pop Pop) took our children to romp at the park.
My father's theory of parenting echoes his father's, "Keep 'em tired."
It worked with my brother and me, but it seems to make my children more rambunctious.
They returned, pink cheeked and full of stories and even more energy.
Almost immediately, Grand Master H stole one of Grammy's Fit Flops and started wearing it on his arm. As he whipped through the downstairs, he announced, "This is my bee wing!"
He then turned around, wiggled his rear and said, "And I have a stinger on my BUTT!"
His sister then put the other shoe on, after a small scuffle, and announced, "I a butterfly! Look at my butterfly wing!"
Remember when every single thing was toy and every minute was another chance to play?