Michael in the Snow

Miranda called on the telephone and said Michael wanted to play.

 I said I would be right over.

She thought he wanted to play trains but he switched to outdoor play when he saw me.

The game I chose was "shovels and ice-picks" in the snow.

The backyard is full of summer play toys, now covered with snow. The khaki coloured camoflauge jeep is covered by a snow bank.

The slide has a 2 foot cover of snow.

"There seems to be a lot of friction here."

There are drifts everywhere – just one small path between his house and mine. He does wants to take the road less travelled, so he walked in the drift up to his thighs, putting his hand out to mine so that he could be steadied in the treacherous walk from the lawn to the shovelled patio.

"I never had to clean this off in the summertime!"

He saw my back gate open and took a walk to the alley, first of all weeping the snow off of the window of my old Honda to see if there was a car seat in the back for him to ride in.

A disappointment when nothing was there, but he moved on to uncover the old motor his dad left where I park my cards, using the fan to play “driving a car” until he saw the back alley and could remember that as being the way to the park.

"I can see a plane."

I thought he would give out, but he was on his way to the park down by the elementary school. My last visit there with him was a lesson to me. I can put him in a swing, but I can’t raise him high enough to take him out.

I wondered if he would like to ride the C-train with me instead of going to the park.

I slipped back to the house, tucked my Annual Bus Pass into my pocket and decided to start a new adventure with him. He was good until the last 20 yards before the University Station at which time he suddenly noticed that his wrists were tingling from where the snow had snuck in between the bottom of his coat sleeve and the start of his mittens.

"Why is this stuck.  Unstick it, please."

Tears came down his face in an instant and he wanted his mother. That is, until he realized that would mean going home. Now there is an approach avoidance conflict! The warmth of home means the adventure is over.

He wanted to stay out side at all costs. I knew it was time to turn homeward, but he, having none of it, had to be carried in my arms.

... the road less travelled ...
by the boy in the dinosaur toque

Michael is so tall that when he is in my arms he towers over my head. And he has no idea of hanging on around my neck. When Richard carries him, it must be with a different centre of gravity. At one point I was about to ask a couple of the university students to carry Michael the last few blocks for me.

Success!  I am out of that drift and still in one piece
Note: dinosaur mittens.

When he threw himself backward out of my arms?

That is the moment when I knew it was better for me to have had him in my skilled arms than for him to have been in a stranger’s arms – someone who doesn’t know have fast that can happen.

I still have the parenting skill of knowing this child is going down and that it is better to have him do a roll in the snow that to try to stop the momentum with which he threw himself down.

"Play socceer?", he asks, looking at the basketball hoop.

The snow was deep.

He did a front roll, laying himself flat out in the snow and was on his feet in an instance.

When I tried to pick him up, he went to dead weight on the ground again. I know how to carry a little boy who is as stiff as a two-by-four. I measured in my mind, how many lengths it would be until I would have him home. His little cold hands were nothing to him, in comparison to the sorrow over our wonderful adventure being over.

red cheeks, red nose, cold hands ... still not ready to go inside

I have slipped over there twice today to try to find him, but he hasn’t been home.

I want to pick up the adventure at the C-train.

With a snack, an extra set of gloves, and gwa-ma with her cell phone, there is another wonderful day ahead of us.

Arta