Fathers and Sons

When we had Robbie I knew there would be days in my future when a boy would come running up to me, gleefully sporting a suit made of mud and ask to have his picture taken. I just didn’t know at the time that the “boy” would be my husband.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t include this little gem. It set Robbie to shouting for all the “8-am-on-a-Saturday-morning” neighborhood to hear “Dad’s got a poopy butt!”. Over and over and over.

And where was the real little boy during this whole mudapalooza?

Clean as a whistle.