Today’s snow was about perfect as far as I’m concerned. It came on a weekend, so wasn’t the huge logistical nightmare that midweek snowstorms are around here. And I got to play with the boys instead of going into work. (Since we live close to the metro, it almost never snows enough that I can’t make it into work. And since T is home, even the schools shutting down doesn’t give me a good excuse to stay home and play in the snow.) We got about 8 inches, enough to make snowmen, have a snowball fight, and take the boys sledding at the Masonic memorial, but not so much that there was danger of either of the boys getting stuck in a drift.
Playing with the boys was especially sweet because I wasn’t sure I was ever going to get to do it, at least with D. He has mild sensory issues, and this is the first time that he’s been willing to play in the snow. In the past, he’s totally refused to walk in the snow, even in boots. He liked the idea of snowball fights — but only the throwing part, not the getting hit part. He’s outgrown a lot of his issues — he used to be unwilling to walk on grass — and so I was hopeful that he’d eventually be willing to play in the snow, but I wasn’t sure it would happen. But today, he had a great time, and was even willing to lay down and make snow angels.
I feel a little sheepish admitting how bugged I was by D’s dislike of snow and sand. Obviously, in the scheme of things, it’s not a big deal. But playing in the snow and digging on the beach were parts of my mental image of childhood and parenting.