There are zits visible, with the scrawny one saddled with the most. And there is strong, man-sized body odor oozing from them, with, once again, the scrawny one being the top of the heap in rankness.
Their legs are hairy. That is one competition the scrawniest does not win.
Their feet are huge, sporting boat-sized footwear.
They speak so deeply that callers mistake them for their fathers when offered a lazy "Hullo" when the phone rings.
They eat everything in the house. Well, everything that is not healthy. [Not that there's much health food here, mind you. We are talking about my house, after all.]
How did this gaggle of first-grade boys turn so quickly into not-so-little men? It really was just moments ago that I was corralling them on field trips to the Lawrence Hall of Science and the Richardson Bay Audubon Center. And now it is to R-rated movies I take them, handing over cash for them to make their own way, seemingly requiring nothing from me besides the cash itself.
They are in flux. So is my heart.