It seems like the weather in this country-shaped refrigerator is finally beginning its jagged ascent up towards zero. I put away my parka yesterday, stuffed it into the very back of the hall closet, and pulled out my Not-Quite-Spring-Not-Not-Winter jacket instead. It was -11 and calm and we celebrated by going tobogganing.
It was Sullivan's first time ever playing in the snow. He finally fits into his snowsuit and seems old enough to actually enjoy it, so I thought he might think it was cool or neat or fun or something.
But as far as I can tell, he didn't really care much about it at all. He assumed an incredibly stoic expression and held it all afternoon with the steady concentration and steadfastness of a guard at Buckingham Palace (only, the guard is a teenager who thinks his job is kind of stupid and just wants to get home and play video games). I pulled him in his sled and he looked at me like, "Why are you doing this?" We set him in a pile of snow and he sat there pawing halfheartedly at it like, "Why am I doing this?" Barclay even took him down the hill in a saucer and he stared straight ahead the whole time like, "Why are we doing this?"
(Which was pretty much me in every single high school gym class I can remember, so at least he comes by it honestly.)
Julia's son seemed to feel the same level of interest in the excursion, only he was much more passionate about it. After a few harrowing rides down the hill, he decided that his calling was to stand at the top pushing other people down. Julia, ever the thoughtful one in the bunch, made sure to remind him each time that this was THE ONE AND ONLY TIME IN YOUR LIFE THAT IT IS OK TO PUSH SOMEONE DOWN A HILL.
After a while, our cheeks went from china white to rash red and we decided we should pack it up and in for supper and coffee. And Sullivan was like, "Whatever."