Hunter is my nephew. He is 10. Along with much of my Kentucky family, he is here for Officer Ginger’s birthday weekend. (He’s asleep in a sleeping bag upstairs right now.) (Actually, he’s probably not asleep because he has just “secretly” had some Coca-Cola and some M&Ms.) (And I told him the house is haunted.)
The first thing Hunter finds to play with in our Big City yard? A pine cone. He has been tossing it around like a baseball and a football all weekend. He even brought it inside for safe-keeping last night, so he could play with it some more today.
Next find? A big stick. He faked a broken leg, so he needed a cane. He batted the pinecone baseball. And he made an awesome nunchuk, until the stick fell apart; then it was a “bo” staff.
Then Hunter played bags/corn hole so competitively with his adult uncles that he did NOT need his fleece — even after the sun went down and they played by full moonlight with mini flashlights duct-taped to their heads.
And almost best? He brought a plastic severed hand in his knapsack. Because who goes to a party without a severed hand? (Girls, that’s who.)
Absolute best? He brought one bottle rocket, to shoot off in celebration of Ginger’s birthday. One. And he gathered all of us into the back yard to cheer. Thank goodness it went off, because he later admitted that he only found it in the back of the truck, so who knows how long it had been there.
I think that if I look up “boy” in Merriam-Webster, I’ll see Hunter’s picture next to the definition.
ginnygram 
That’s my boy!!! :)
You might see a picture of my Charlie there as well…….