Max is tough. Really tough. He amazes me with his strength....for such a skinny little guy.
He can hold his own.
He once flew head first over the handlebars of his bike. He stood up, looked around, and held back his tears. It hurt me just to see it.
It's a good thing he is tough. My yard just happens to be the "field" for the daily football game in the neighborhood.
These boys are serious. Yes, they often make up the rules as they go, but have a blast playing.
I will say, I can't watch very often. How these boys are not broken and bleeding at the end of each game, I will never know (knock on wood).
And then there is Charlie. He is the smartest one of the bunch. For now. He will choose his tractor over the possibility of getting knocked down.
But when he decides to join them, they better watch out.
*Disclaimer: I have learned to pick my battles. Once we are home from school, Max picks out his own play clothes. I do not like, or encourage, the mixture of a Falcon jersey and an Atlanta Braves hat.*