Summer.

The scent of sunscreen and the echoes of kids playing in the yard.

That’s the feeling I had last night as I flipped hamburgers on the grill and watched the boys practically gargle their lemonade in an effort to quench their thirst. The boys decided they would dine inside pop-up tents in the backyard. You know the kind, the smaller versions meant for kids that pop into place in mere seconds. One was for Griffin, the other for Hayden.

I sat in the grass and listened to them talk about their plans for the night, a possible game of frisbee or a visit to the neighbor’s house, then headed in for more lemonade. I love nights like these, I thought to myself as I headed indoors for a refill.

Chatter about frisbee-tossing quickly changed to yelling and I turned to see my five-year-old yank Griffin’s tent from over his head and throw it several feet away. The 8-year-old was sooooo not having that, put down his burger, and hurled Hayden’s tent half way across the yard.

Sure was nice while it lasted.

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