I love the tall wooden fence around our yard. I love that it has a gate that keeps the boys enclosed and safe and I don't have to worry while they are outside playing.
Whenever Max and Benny start to chase each other around the kitchen-hallway-living room-kitchen-hallway-living room I intercept their path and usher them out the back door. They may holler for a bit but often start to do their roughhousing in the back yard.
Many days they'll play on the swingset or in the sandbox, or shoot hoops or kick a ball around.
I'll hang out back there, too, with the boys. I put the baby in the exersaucer or on a blanket (though now he crawls off and crawls into the flower beds and bushes, putting whatever wood chip and rock he can find into his mouth).
It's our sanctuary, our play place, our piece of the world carved out and separated from everybody else's piece of the world by a nice, tall fence.
But, I sometimes forget about the fact that there are others juuussst on the other side of that fence.
It's inevitable any time
a) The boys are hollering at each other and/or using their feet and hands to make their point
b) I'm hollering at the boys to knock it off
c) I'm nursing the baby
d) I'm giggling on the phone with my sister Bekah
I hear a slight "ahem" coming from the other side of the fence.