They spent the afternoon in the snow. Tumbling over each other like overgrown puppies. Laughing. Playing. Together. It was almost 70 degrees, bright blue skies, and most of the snow is already melted.
But they were determined to play in the snow, whatever was left. They left me reading at the pool, got their snow pants and jackets and gloves, grabbed the red and green snowball makers and trekked up the ski hill past the sign that loudly proclaims: No sledding on the ski hill.
So they butt-sledded.
I squinted up the blinding white hill and saw four figures – medium, small, smaller and extra-small, tumbling down the snowy white slope. Over and over again. And over each other. Soaking wet gloves, trashed sneakers, sore butts.
Most often their play ends in anything but. It ends in tears. And raised voices. Shut up. You’re an idiot. Or even an accidental shove that nobody believes was an accident. There are slaps instead of words, and loud wails, and always my disappointment that my very parental and annoying warning “someone is going to get hurt” was unfortunately realized.
There was no pushing and shoving yesterday afternoon. They delighted in each other. So happy to be together. Maybe it was the magical snow. Or the thrill of tumbling down a steep hill on their butts. Or maybe it was because it was just the four of them, up there on the mountain, taking care of each other. And they didn’t know I was watching.
This post was written as part of the April A to Z Challenge. To read more of my A to Z posts click here.