Dirty

Ninety-eight percent of my kids clothes are stained and/or torn. So is my couch. There's an ever-present ring around our bathtub. I could lie and say I try to keep it scrubbed, but let's be real here - unless overnight company is coming, I don't. Dirt and grass are constantly tracked in my house, so the floors aren't clean either. We're a dirty family.

Our kids play with sticks. The pointier, the better, in their opinion. Calvin actually has a stick sword collection on the porch. We have a trampoline with no net (or mat). I let the bigguns jump on it with only distant supervision.  Wrestling is a daily event in this house. We tromp willy-nilly through tall grass. We remove ticks on a daily basis. We have B.B. guns, slingshots, and bows and arrows. The guns and bows are locked up, but the slingshots are in amongst the pirate costumes and superhero get ups, like it ain't no thang.

I'm sure lots of parents think we're a little (or a lot) out there. Our kids are dirty and rough. They might poke an eye out, break a bone, get Lyme disease, or worse.

And they might.

But they also might get leukemia, get hit by a car, or be a victim of a school shooting. They also may grow up scared of everything. Or soft and lazy. So, I guess we weigh the risks and rewards and choose the best scenario. And for our family, that's dirty and rowdy.

Because this:

This is what childhood is all about.