It began with promise.

The sun stood high like a spotlight for chaos. The hose was coiled. The splash pads were filled. Jack donned his swim trunks with the swagger of an experienced commander. James arrived with big feelings, wielding two squirt toys and one dramatic plan.

Peace lasted 14 seconds.

Jack tried to fill the inflatable shark. James screamed, “NO! MY BABY!” and claimed it as his emotional support vessel. Jack retaliated by squirting him gently—like a dignified gentleman defending his turf. James responded like a super-soaker samurai possessed by vengeance.

Water blasted. Grass soaked. Someone yelled, “I AM THE AQUA KING.” It wasn’t clear who. Maybe both.

The yard turned into a slapstick battlefield.
The sprinkler became a dodge trap.
The toddler pool? A throne of screams and snack wrappers.

Jack poured water into a cup like he was conducting toddler chemistry. James snatched it, dumped it on his own head, and declared, “I’m clean now.”
Jack sighed deeply. Possibly aged 4 years in that moment.

The garden hose was briefly declared “the friendship noodle” before turning into a tool of betrayal. James sprayed Jack mid-snack. Goldfish turned into wet mush. Jack stared at his brother with the betrayal only a soggy snack can trigger.

Laughter rang. Then drama. Then laughter again.
James slipped dramatically, landed in the splash pad, blinked, then shouted, “I’m swimming!”
Jack clapped. “You’re not.”
James nodded solemnly. “I am inside a dream.”

By the end, Jack was wrinkled like a raisin. James stood soaked, victorious, and slightly purple from an unknown popsicle source.
The hose trickled. The toy shark lay deflated.
Pookie watched from the window, looking like she’d call the fire department if any more chaos unfolded.

Two brothers. One hose.
And a thousand giggles echoing across a very wet yard.