There comes a moment every evening, when I see our car pull up out front and practically scream "DAD IS HOME!" The boys sprint to the front window to watch Travis come in from outside.
And then chaos reigns.
There is wrestling. So much wrestling. Tackling. Sprinting. Throwing of people. Hitting with pillows. Climbing. Shouting. Running. Piggy-backing. And always, Wrestling.
Our poor downstairs neighbors must hate 6 o'clock at our house. We make noise. And lots of it.