We snuck in their room to check on the boys tonight. Silas is helter-skelter, sprawled on top of his blanket, one arm above his head - and his pirate sword resting beside his hand, where it must have fallen once he fell asleep. Buzz Lightyear is by his side. Our little warrior has conquered another day.
Asher is neatly snuggled beneath his blanket, Geoff and Monkey under his arm. Always prepared, always ordered, he looks like a picture. His jack hammer is resting beside his pillow.
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My house has been swallowed up by fairy tales.
We hear them first before dawn. "Ash-uh, let's battle, okay? Hey Ash-uh! Wake up! Let's battle!" All morning they are pirates, the train table, their ship. A section of the backyard has been named Narnia, with bushes just the right size for climbing and defeating the White Witch. Asher also has a newfound fascination with Sleeping Beauty. True love and ever after are completely lost on him; the real story is Prince Phillip and Maleficent (has there ever been an evil witch more aptly named than Maleficent?). Fire breathing dragons and evil fairies and forests of thorns ... and Prince Phillip saves the day. And there may be nothing - nothing - more endearing than a little boy who wants to hear me sing Once Upon a Dream one more time. He doesn't care that I can't sing, and in that moment, I don't either.
I don't ever want to forget this. The way their imaginations take over, how happy they are to play at home, with one another (most of the time). Every day, all day long, they are heroes, warriors, conquerors. I don't ever want to forget.