My getting-all-out-of-life-it-has-to-offer boy.
I mean it's just snow!
It's just a snowball fight! I mean that's a right of passage for young boys, right?
I simply can't deny my boy his testosertone-based fun.
I mean it's just snow... right?
Soft and fluffy snow?
All you mamas out there know how this is going to end. Mamas just have a 6th sense like that. But it's like a car crash on the side of the road. You just can't avoid slowing down to look.
But in my denial, I'm all like that's my boy! In the soft and fluffy snow!
My boy making the perfect snowball.
My boy using the trees for cover!
My boy daring to dash from tree to tree advancing on his opponant!
My boy collaberating with his "team."
My boy shamelessly taunting his adversary.
That's not good when your adversary outweighs you by over 100lbs.
It's just not gonna end well.
Then it happens. I see my boy in the distance. It's gone all wrong.
My sweet getting-all-out-of-life-it-has-to-offer, but learning-there're-consequenses-to-everything boy.
My boy, who really is only 11, with tears in his eyes from from being repetitively pelted by all that not so soft and fluffy snow. Snow that is now down his jacket and pants and has scraped across his cheeks.
My boy who needs a little mama lovin'. I'll oblige, my sweet boy.