The boys were fighting on the bed. Dressed up in super hero pajamas, they each held toy cars in their hands. Back and forth they went, pulling, kicking, and hitting with every part of their toddler bodies. Barely a word came out of their mouths as they were too busy concentrating on the war. Somehow they had put themselves up atop the master bed, in the grand master bedroom while Mum put the laundry away.
The bedroom was breathtakingly white and simply decorated with just a bed, dresser and two night tables. Atop the dresser lay wooden photo frames with photos of the boys as babies. Now those babies seemed so grown up, yet so young at the same time. Mum sighed as she hung up Dad’s pants in the closet, “how do they change so quickly?”
Suddenly there was screaming and when Mum turned, she saw the boys, lying on the bed away from each other. “What’s wrong?” Mum asked to neither boy in particular. “He tried to hit me with a front loader!” one of the boys yelled, pointing his tiny index finger at his brother. Mum looked at her other son, who was not happy with the accusation. “Well he tried to hit me with a forklift!” Mum just had to laugh, causing both boys to erupt in a fury of giggles and laughter.
In response to today’s Daily Post Challenge.