When I picked up Little Biker Boy on Sunday, I said, “It’s a beautiful day. We should do something outside.” It’s what I always said to my own kids when they were little.
About six inches of snow had covered the trees and meadows. I drove down a street that deadends at a little creek and parked the car. Little Biker Boy ran over to the creek bank. “Watch out!” he yelled. “I might fall in!”
He stopped before he reached the edge of the creek and looked back at me. “Did I scare you?” he asked hopefully. “Didya think I was gonna fall in?”
I walked along the creek and took photos while he made snowballs and threw them into the water. With the foliage gone on the trees, we were in full sunshine most of the time, and our bodies made shadows on the snow. We explored the creek, a nearby bridge, and the woods.
When we came to the hill formed by the bridge embankment, Little Biker Boy ran to the top and began rolling down, his arms and legs flailing as he tumbled. When I was little, we lived next to a highway embankment, and I remember how much fun we used to have sledding or tumbling down. I didn’t join in — because sadly, as an adult, I get motion sick doing stuff like that — but I stood and watched Little Biker Boy run up, tumble down, run up, tumble down, run up, tumble down, until finally he was shivering and it was time to go buy hot slices of pizza to warm ourselves up.