"With luck, it might even snow for us."
-- Haruki Murakami, After Dark
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| Marshmallow snowman 1-9-14 |
"I love snow for the same reason I love Christmas:
It brings people together while time stands still ...
No one seemed to be in a rush to experience anything other than
the glory of the day, with each other ..."
-- Rachel Cohn, Dash & Lily's Book of Dares
The children in my small town were supposed to return to school on January 2.
But they've been blessed with a string of snow days that stretched their Christmas break seven extra days, making their total time off from school a full three weeks.
They went back this morning. Which is probably a good thing, because I think the mothers in my small town were fixing to rise up and storm the superintendent's home if he cancelled one more precious day. They're are all getting restless, twitchy and they have a crazed look in their eyes, the look of wild animals captured in traps, prepared to gnaw off their own legs in order to escape the cold, cruel grip of cabin fever.
But not me.
I honestly felt a little note of sorrow this morning when Leo laced up his new boots, slung his backpack over his shoulder and headed out the door. Because during the past three weeks, we were together a lot. Sure, we had our moments -- nobody wants to be with somebody all the time -- but mostly, it was really good. I didn't dread the announcement of "school cancelled tomorrow." I celebrated it. I didn't want to sully it for him, because I remember that feeling of staying up late, waiting, hoping, praying for one more day off. I remember the luxury of staying up late and sleeping in on days that were supposed to be school days. It's one of the best feelings of childhood, ranking right up there with Christmas and birthdays. I think because all three involve gifts.
If I had to write an essay about "What I Did During Winter Break," it would include all the stuff I did with my great kid, for instance:
We went to the movies, four times.
We ate lunch together every day (I usually eat alone). I packed Leo's lunchbox every night, just in case. And then he'd just eat it at the dinner table the next day. He said it tasted better at home.
We took our cameras out in the snowy woods just to see what we could see.
We cheered for my alma mater Michigan State in the Rose Bowl.
The soundtrack of many days was Leo practicing, diligently, his duck and goose calls, which he got progressively better at, to the point where I barely noticed it anymore. I just figured there were ducks or geese flying overhead. The practice paid off, because I cooked some of the geese he hunted. He also figured out how to build his own goose call, which miraculously worked and sounded pretty darned convincing.
We got Leo's room cleaned and took a whole car-load of his stuff to Goodwill.
I let him use my workroom to paint tiny little wood blocks with tiny, extremely detailed and accurate, ducks. He got lost in his art for hours. It made me glad knowing he has the keys to that happy place, that sweet escape, just like me.
Everywhere we went, Leo drove. He is on his learner's permit, and needs to accumulate the hours. And I liked having a chauffeur. It made me feel fancy.
We made up jokes. Here's one: "If Sean Combs was an insect, what would he be?" "Diddy Long Legs."
I felt a tug at my heart when he visited our 86-year-old neighbor, Vera, and talked with her for almost two hours because she had been home alone during the bitter cold snap and he figured she could use the company. He also took her a pork chop.
We shopped for duck and goose decoys.
I took him shopping for new boots and to spend his Christmas gift cards to the sporting goods store, which sometimes strains my patience, but somehow wasn't stressful. Because we had time. We weren't in a hurry. We had no place else to be and nothing else to do. We were just hanging out with each other.
We started calling ourselves the Dynamic Duo.
Thing One and Thing Two.
Make that Good Thing One and Good Thing Two.
