Salvation Amy

But it looks like a blizzard out there today, even though it’s mostly snow blowing around. Yesterday driving the kids to work the snowflakes were about the size of walnuts.

A normal morning at my house, has Scott waking first. He gets Nick or Andy up, and then, as he leaves the house, me. I generally do a little on-line banking, check my e-mail, wake Carly and get in the shower. While I shower, she makes lunch and wakes Char. That is where the trauma usually starts.

Char is what you would not call a Morning Person. Charlie, in fact, is something of a night owl. Generally he reacts to any lighting as a modern day Vlad the Impaler, hissing, spitting, and, well, okay, maybe Vlad wasn’t much of a whiner, but if he had been, I’m certain he would whine as though his life depended on it. He hides under blankets, under the dog, under the couch. If you ask him what he wants in his lunch, he say NOTHING. If you offer him breakfast, he will likely burst into tears.

This morning, earlier than usual, I woke to the sound of school closings on the radio, and loud talking from downstairs. It was such an anomaly in my home on a Friday morning that I woke completely discombobulated. The TV was blaring school closings, the radio in my bedroom was giving them gently. Charlie and Nick were checking the school closings. Nope. Nick’s school was open. So was Charlie’s.

As soon as Nick left, Charlie was upstairs, begging to go outside. He was fully dressed, albeit in a polo shirt and shorts. I told him he’d be too cold. He told me he wouldn’t. I relented. To his credit, he threw on some sweats before braving the elements. I looked outside minutes later, and saw him, bent at the waist, slowly rolling a huge ball of snow across the lawn. I poked my head out to ask him to come back toward the house, and he picked up his mammoth snowball, ran up to the porch, and threw it off, smashing it into the cherry tree in the front yard.

This satisfied him, somewhat, and he came back into the house. Carly reminded him that a day like this would mean a day long snowball fight at school. He’s been pestering me to take him to school ever since. I love this school. But I’ve already started to worry about cars careening out of control onto the front lawn, and have cautioned him ten thousand times to play in the back yard at school today. I am worried about the commute. I am worried about the icy roads. He is preparing for battle.

There are some differences between my son and me. I am literary, he is a scientist. But for the most part, he is pure me. This comes from being born at the moment of my divorce. This comes from being largely raised by his mother, although he also has a sister who is an influence, and, of late, a step dad and two step brothers, who he likes, and who feed his sciency bent and his curiosity about how things work. But by and large, he is a mama’s boy. I like that, I like him, I like the way he thinks, we share a sense of humor. We share an understanding of how the other thinks in a way that makes us an unbeatable Cranium team.

But the main difference lately can be found in the snow storm. He is filled with wonder. I am filled with worry. I will check the forecasts and the traffic reports. He will sneak out to make the first perfect snowball of the winter.