"Listen up," I announced as we sat around the couch. "While Mom's away, we're going to try something different. Boys' Night has different rules."

I explained that Boys' Night follows the rules of when men gather socially. Everybody minds their own business, carries their own weight, solves their own problems.

Their eyes widened as I continued.

"From now on, everybody does what they want, how they think is right. Your wants are sacred and important." I paused to let that sink in. "But there are four laws you must follow."

"We can do what we want?" my youngest exclaimed, his eyes wide with disbelief.

That very night, my six-year-old bolted outside into the frosty New England autumn air. Seconds later, his pajamas flew onto the porch steps. There he stood, bare as the day he was born, dancing beneath the stars.

He tilted his head back and howled.

I stepped out — fully clothed — and howled back. Two wolves in the night.

When my youngest dropped sticky juice on the carpet and reached for a silk throw pillow to wipe it up, I simply appeared beside him.

"Is that what you think is right?"

His eyes widened. He froze, pillow hovering mid-swipe, then slowly set it down and went for paper towels instead.

The Law of Limits in action — he understood that his freedom ended where damage to our shared space began.