My son is dying to go sledding. He is only 2, but when we were grocery shopping last week, he came across a stack of brightly colored plastic toboggans, and knew immediately that was his destiny. Ever since, I have been praying for snow.
The day we brought the sled home, we had less than half an inch on the ground as we headed out the door. By the time we got home, it was gone. Have you tried to explain “it melted” to a two year old? Regardless, he fulfilled his desire by instead sitting in his fluorescent orange sled on the green grass. Rather than careening down the short hill with giggles and glee, M sank deeper and deeper into the over-saturated ground. We even tried to pull him through the wet grass, but it really was no use.
We last lived in western Massachusetts. Yesterday, they got dumped on with more snow that most people would want. Enough to take the fun out of shoveling. I have seen Facebook posts today about people snowboarding down their streets, or cross-country skiing to the local resort for a day of downhill. When I showed M pictures of the snow in the northeast U.S., he again asked to go sledding.
I feel bad for the guy. I really do. His sled got flipped over in the yard a couple days ago and has filled with rain water: frozen and melted, frozen and melted. But my sympathy waned a little bit when, on our walk this morning we came across daffodils and crocus’ ready for spring. And then this afternoon, when I left my jacket at home as the mercury inched towards 60 degrees Fahrenheit, I felt ok about missing Nemo.