Master Builders

A couple of months ago I ordered two sets of child-sized tools for the boys. Real tools. That really work. But I had been keeping them in my back pocket, so to speak, until we really needed them. Well, this week we needed them. (Can you tell it's the end of summer here and that we're all a little tired and cranky, and that this mama is grasping at straws to try to keep everyone from fighting all the time?!)

So one very, very hot afternoon I told the boys there was a surprise waiting for them in the garage: two identical sets of tools and tool boxes—and a mountain of boxes. And then I just turned them loose and went back inside with Virginia to enjoy the air-conditioning and a little peace and quiet.

I had been saving the boxes for weeks, too. They were left over from our move. I only wish I had saved more, because, you know, thirty is really not enough for the "Master Builders." That is what they have taken to calling themselves. Here's a picture of them growling and saying, "Master Builders!" Where do they get this from?

Well, for the next several hours, despite the stifling heat in the garages, they worked together, without quarreling and without any involvement from me. All I could hear were the sounds of busy sawing and the occasional, request for a BandAid (yep, those are real saws).

Finally, hours later, they asked me to come out and see their handiwork. It was a little house with a sunroof and a "working" front door. And they had built it together. 

"Mama, take a picture of us inside!" Colin said. 

Then they hugged. It was priceless.