Loose Leaf Notes

Nobody went to school or to work.  The drive down the mountain went without a hitch and the new red snow shovel was a big hit.  Five-year-old Bryce promptly used it to shovel off the steps from the driveway to the front door.  A snow plow whizzed by, and he beamed as we made plans to tell his mom and dad when they got home from work that I hired a workman to do the job.

I remember a drawer in the closet of my childhood home where a motley mix of mittens and gloves were kept.  In winter, I would spend what seemed like hours trying to match up a pair of anything, competing with eight siblings for something that fit, only to have it all wet in the first 15 minutes of snow play.

I understood why three-year-old Liam whined when I forced his little fingers into the slots of the red alpaca gloves that I meant to give him for Christmas.  He only lasted about 15 minutes outside before he started fussing again.  “Are your fingers cold, honey?” I asked.  “No. They hurt,” he cried.  I understood.  Growing up in Massachusetts, I was frequently near tears while waiting for the school bus on winter mornings because my feet were so cold they stung.

Hardy Bryce lasted much longer and found new ways to use the shovel.  At one point during our play, the shovel became a sail on top of the blue sled that Bryce, Liam and Hopa took down a hill in the front yard.  In the back yard, Bryce and Hopa set up forts to protect themselves from the hail of snowballs they threw at each other.  Bryce used the shovel to deliver a particularly cold blow. You can watch it HERE. 

I heard that both boys were shoveling first thing the next morning and that Liam insisted on taking the shovel in the car when his mom drove him to preschool.  

I still have dreams about that drawer and the struggle of digging for unmatched mittens. _____________Shadow Shot Sunday