Rationing

I don't know how they do it.
But, they do.

In & amongst Army outfits and light sabers, they ration goodness.

Casey:  "Mom's pan makes a great spot to keep our new Twistables huh, Bub?"
Eli:  "Yeah, we can just recycle the packages and keep them all in here so we can use them better."

-all in here-

-use them better-

And just like that, they redefine ration.

What was once a fixed amount to each boy grows.

Doubles

Erases boundary.

I observe taking short shallow breaths so as not to interfere or miss the teensiest bit of conversational work commencing between these two.

There is war. 

Destruction erupts with fires and gunshots.

Crayola Twistables and a sketchbook says it's so.

My little lefty.

You find such joy in the details.

The camo Army hat

The black high top boots

The soldiers bending as they fall just short of victory into the raging fire.

A brigade is on attack just 2 feet across the kitchen table.
Tank men
catapults
machine guns
Teamwork defends freedom in  a big brother's eye.

And, on this day, he needs no prompting.
Eli's pencil finds the paper with quickness asking for no assistance from mama.

It's as if some secret polka plays to the pencil's delight as she shimmies across the page.

It is in this moment; in this handful of our day together, boys, I am given my rations of joy.

Thank you, 

Mama