What My Boys Are Made Of

As the days have gotten warmer and longer, our time spent outdoors has gotten longer too. It's while I'm watching my boys dig in the dirt, climb trees, chase beetles, and taste ants that I think about the poem "That's What Little Boys Are Made Of".

I couldn't agree more as I stare at the gray bath water ever night, and scrub sticky fingers in the sink before meals.Their infinity for all things slimy, dirty, wriggly, and muddy both amuses me and baffles me at the same time. I'm not anti-dirt, I just don't hold onto it as diehard as these..."Please don't make me wash it, leave it outside, my hands are clean enough," boys.

So on further review of that poem, I'll agree with the snakes and snails...but I would also add all the treasures found in cargo pockets at the end of the day, the "man scrapes" on knees and elbows, the jelly and magic markers mixture all between fingers, and the sweaty little heads falling against my shoulder for the few sweet moments they are still enough to hold close.