When we arrived home from church on Sunday, I hustled into the house.
They stayed outside.
There was a lone patch of snow that hadn't melted, but instead had crusted over in a icy shell, mere steps into the backyard grass.
"Ice!" I could hear Malcolm shout as I stood in the warmth of the doorway, watching.
My husband walked over to the white patch and stomped down on it, making a footprint.
Malcolm followed suit.
Lots of little footprints followed.
Little hands picked up frozen chunks and dropped them on the driveway.
Laughter erupted as the ice scattered across the pavement.
Happy dancing ensued.
Running and jumping followed.
My husband made a ball of "ice" and tossed it at Malcolm's chest.
It exploded as it hit his highly padded winter coat.
"More!" He squealed (and signed).
As the patch of crunchy snow grew smaller and smaller (until it wasn't there any more), I swear my heart grew bigger and bigger in my chest.
I am so lucky to have these boys.
They are so lucky to have each other.