No, this isn’t a Game of Thrones post. Sorry.
This is yet another post about how my kid amazes me. When we moved from a southern state to one a little further north six (!?!) years ago, I dread spending long, grey winters indoors.
Until I saw how happy it made my kiddo.
Me: (wrapping scarf #2 around top of child’s head and ears) Fifteen minutes. You have fifteen minutes to play, then you come inside and warm up for five minutes.
Kiddo: mmffff hmm meh hhmmm fmm mm.
Kiddo: (unbundling face) You don’t have to worry.
Me: Of course I worry. Frostbite is serious business.
Kiddo: Not for me. I’m part penguin. (grins)
It was that moment when I decided to let go of my worry (within reason) and I’m so glad I did. I watched from the window as a pack of tiny bodies waddled in the snow, flung snowballs with reckless abandon, and, generally speaking, behaved like a bunch of young penguins on an iceberg. My son-of-a-southerner flopped face first into a snowdrift, arms and legs flapping, and scooted across the front yard on his belly. Why? Who cares. It was fun.
Subsequent winters saw us with more snowball fights, snowmen named Jasper who liked jaunty caps, snow alligators, green with food coloring, towering forts and even a three-headed snow hydra.
So, now, I actually kind of look forward to the first big snowfall of winter. When the air is heavy and smells like ice, and you just know when you wake up the world will be clean and quiet with new snowfall. It seems no matter how old my kiddo gets, his face still lights up when he looks out the window at new snow. Maybe he is part penguin.