Like Father, Like Son

I’ve escaped to my office. Tom and Micah are having a burger cook-off. Voices raised, they argue that six items are the maximum number of toppings allowed. Each had to list them before being revealed to each other. I have no idea what those items are, but they are adamant.

“I thought cheese was automatically included!” my son protests.

“If it’s not on your list, you can’t use it,” I hear. There is not the edge that sometimes invades their speech. It is more like competitive male voices that love each other.

I like it.

Earlier, they watched the Tampa Bay Rays beat the Stinky,…er I mean, The Red Sox. Tom demonstrated the racing game that he is obsessed with on his iPad. Micah is really interested in all the pretend cars that Tom races. They ooohd and aaahd over them, and discussed them in great detail.

I’m glad.

Too often the words in our home have a steely taste. It is refreshing to hear playful bantering. Music to my “mama ears.”

Soon that will end because I am the judge.

Pray for me. I’m in for a good meal. With my two favorite men.

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