Despite myriad wounds and tears, for about three hours now, my kids have spent their time sliding down the stairs at the speed of light. After the destruction of their previous boxes yesterday (packing tape can only heal so many box wounds), having also tried garbage bags, sheets and even coats as their mode of transportation, they finally called their dad in tears, begging him to bring home new boxes. He performed the task fantastically; wisely selecting the fastest, most aerodynamic boxes that were to be found at his work. They were unable to test drive them until after church, lunch and quiet time; during which they lovingly decorated their vehicles. Now, I think my daughter may be developing a black eye, brother has bruises all over and says that his wrist hurts when he does "this", but they haven't slowed down yet. I figure, when I see blood it will be time to park the vehicles for the evening. Besides, they're bound to get hungry eventually.