American Boys

While Maggie and I were up north on the weekend, the boys moved into their summertime mode, getting creative after a year of school-directed studies, sports and contrived field trips. Now they are free to make their own fun.

They didn't even consult the American Boys' Handbook, which I am always touting as The place to find directions for "My Side of the Mountain" type survival skills and other such fun. The three of them started in constructing their own bows and arrows and came up with some that shoot higher than the tall Southern pines in our yard.

After that they decided to build a house behind our shed. In a tattered album in the cupboard there's an old black and white photo of a tiny house I had once built. It has a door on hinges and a window with a flower pot on the sill. While other girls my age were reading Namcy Drew mysteries, I was attaching my brother Eric's wagon to the back of my bike and hauling scrap lumber from a nearby lumber yard.

But our boys don't lack for lumber. There's plenty in our shed, and when they aren't shooting arrows as high as the pine trees or deep into the woods next door, Peter and James have been hammering.

And just a minute ago, Rob and James snuck by me semi-embarrased but with the explanation that they were Indians. "Don't worry. We don't scalp each other; we're naturalists." I said. "That's good," and off they went out the back door with James actually calling his big brother, 'Robbie.'

Even though there are still three half days left to school, summer has arrived. Everyone is relaxing at our house, and I am reminded why I loved homeschooling. Without the stress of peers and studies, I am once again getting to see how sweet my boys really are.