Not your father's Crayola

One of the remnants of my childhood is Crayola. There was always Crayola in the house, in drawers, in bags, on the floors, on the walls, on tables and chairs, on almost everything. The world was a canvas for my airplanes, rocket ships, cars, kites, cats, robots, and whatever else was tumbling behind my eyes.

It's that kind of creative freedom that I want the boys to have. Free to make a mess. Free to make their stories. Free to play. And since Crayola is 100% nontoxic I'm free to leave them by themselves. And free to xbox my life away bwahahahahahahhaa! (note to wife: I'm kidding! Please put down that hammer.)