It's Sunday morning, it's blizzarding outside, and I am not dressed or hygienically prepared to entertain.
Nevertheless, I reasoned, since my doorbell is ringing (it has rung twice now in quick succession) under these strange circumstances, it's got to be serious. Someone must have a real need to contact me face to face. So, I roll out of my toasty covers, throw on a mu'u mu'u (honestly!) and stagger towards the front door.
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| The view from inside. . . where it's warm! |
Before I can get quite get there, I see my visitor has already made his way into my living room. He is a little boy, MY little boy, already dressed from head to toe to fingertips in his "play in the snow" clothes. I hadn't known my boys were even awake, and yet they have dressed themselves thoroughly and independently in everything they need to keep warm as they frolic in the first big snow of the season. George was unable to work the front doorknob with his gloved hands, so has rung the doorbell for help. He has come inside to find Lewis, who is already snowboarding down the hill in the backyard, rolling snowballs with mittened hands and then either eating them or throwing them.
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| George and Lewis, snow lovers. |
These are the two of my boys that were "Made in Michigan"--and it shows today, as does their youthful exuberance. Watching them, I feel some of that exuberance spread to my heart, too, and I remember that the world being transformed overnight from brown/grey to perfect crystalline white should always be regarded as miraculous.
Thanks, boys!
