Verrry cold. Especially for Richmond. Enough so that my oldest son asked me if he’d ever experienced such cold in his lifetime. He hasn’t. He asked if I had. I imagine I have, but I don’t remember.
He came in my room this morning and announced the temperature to me…9 degrees (but it feels like 1). That’s the first thing he said to me as I lay in bed enjoying the extra sleep time a 2-hour-because-it’s-so-cold school delay afforded me.
Since he’s an early riser, and was already dressed, I asked him to take the dog out, reminding him to bundle up. He agreed, donning his hat and gloves and heavy coat (gasp!) without even having to be told to (typically, bundle up means halfway pull your medium-weight coat on).
When he came back in, he was gasping.
“Cold out there, huh?”
“Just on my feet.”
I look down and see that he is barefoot. BAREFOOT. “Will, WHATAREYOUTHINKING?”
“I had shoes on.”
“I was wearing my slides.”
In other words, the kid bundled himself up head to
“There was steam you know.” A gleeful twinkle in his eye, because who doesn’t think “smoking” pee is hysterical? Certainly not my kids.
“Go put some socks on.”
“M-O-M, it’s fine.”
You know, I was so pleased this morning by his taking responsibility for the dog, for bundling up without being
Clearly, the road to "there" is a long one. Loooong and winding.
It’s his good nature and sly grin that save him, time after time. I'm a sucker for 'em. And all I can do is shake my head and trust that we will arrive at our destination. One day.
May I be alive to see it.