War Zone

I'm not speaking metaphorically today. It was a literal WAR ZONE in my house today! I've got the nerf wounds to prove it! I mistakenly walked in the cross-fire of a nerf dart battle and was pelted at least 7 times.

Even little Brooks got in on it. Although he couldn't cock his own gun, he was a vital part since he was the Artillery Commander. All I heard was, "More ammo!" being yelled through the halls, followed by the pitter-patter of little bare feet as he scrambled to pick up all the darts and deliver them to his com rads.

But if it's not nerf guns and darts, it's Gi-Joe's and Army guys... and when I don't hear the whistling of darts, it's usually the crash of blocks and legos as miniature forts and hide-outs are destroyed in combat.

It's times like these that I'm reminded of a poem by Robert Louis Stevenson that I learned in 6th grade.

When I was sick and lay a-bed,
I hate two pillows at my head,
And all my toys beside me lay
To keep me happy all the day.

And sometimes for an hour or so
I watched my leaden soldiers go,
With different uniforms and drills,
Among the bed-clothes, through the hills.

And sometimes sent my ships in fleets
All up and down among the sheets;
Or brought my trees and houses out,
And planted cities all about.

I was the giant great and still
That sits upon the pillow-hill,
And sees before him, dale and plain,
The pleasant land of counterpane.

I never could relate to this poem before. But after 3 boys, I'm happy to report that this is my life... and where there are "war zones", there are three happy boys... and I love that... every second of it!