Bubbles, Bubbles, My Bubbles!

It was the first blissfully warm day of the year. For being February, it was literal perfection. I believe it even touched 60 on the thermometer before quickly retreating back into Winter for a reprieve of the balminess of Spring. It was still February after all.

Naturally, a pair of strawberry blonde brothers spent the afternoon exploring this new muddy habitat that was emerging from beneath all of the stale white cold sloppy stuff. One of them even took a snow shovel to the yard in hopes of discarding what was left of this Old Man Winter just a little bit sooner.

Before long, little brother emerged from the garage with a highly coveted token of last Summer's leftover fun. Bubbles. I watched the longing glance of envy from the older one. He disappeared into the garage in search of another bottle for himself but to no avail. They were all empty.

Now, I have been known to resist the cultural standard of "sharing" and "taking turns" that we are to impose upon our children. It is my hope to instill a sense of ownership along with proper respect for one another. So without intervening, I just sat back and waited to see what would happen. 

Of course Colton was less than eager to give up his beloved treasure, and Jimmy knew it was a lost cause before he even thought to beg and plead. Instead he disappeared into the house for a few moments. When he returned he had his own bubble bottle, filled with a solution he created himself using dish soap and (not quite enough, but that's between you and me) water. He had found a tiny whisk in the kitchen and began to blow the biggest coolest bubbles you ever saw. Admiration seeped from the little brother (and the mother, to be sure!), and together those mud splattered brothers blew bubbles to their hearts' content.  

Creative. Problem solver. Team player. That's my boy.