I love this picture. To me it represents boys. And men. And how down deep grown men are still part little boy.
The background story: It was once again time for Hubby's work picnic. Hanging out with a bunch of his office mates who we only see in the heat of the summer, under a city park pavilion. We share hot dogs and drink gallons of cold water and try to organize games that everyone can play.
Hubby is put in charge of recreation every year. Maybe because he has the most kids of anyone in the office and we have all the gear and appropriate sports balls.
But beyond the regular stuff, like kickball and volleyball, every year they must, must, must do water balloons. Nothing more fun that hurling a water bomb at the guy you call boss every other day of the year.
For an hour my boys were at the kitchen sink. Filling tiny colored balloons with water and placing them carefully in the tub. Half the fun of water balloons, I'm convinced, is the filling up part. You get to plan and scheme and brag about who you're going to get and how you're going to get them.
Fortunately my boys did have fun with the process. Because once we got to the park we were informed that water balloons were not allowed in that park. Unless you picked up every speck of balloon out of the grass afterwards. And that seemed like way too much work for the few minutes of fun.
So the huge tub of balloons ended up back at my house. And for the next few days, the neighborhood friends got a nice wet surprise when they dared to ring the doorbell.