Snow Fort

Dear Ben,

Last night you and your friend attempted to make an ice rink. It’s just a 4 x 4 patch of snow that will never be big enough to skate on, but you both packed it down and then spent the next hour trucking up our stairs with an empty jug to fill with water. Every time you’d come through the door, snow would spill off your jacket and boots and onto the floor. Your cheeks were red from the cold and your eyes were bright with excitement.

“Zoey knows a lot about making ice rinks!” you told me. Then, “Whoopsie. I’m sorry I’m making a mess on the floor.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “I’ll clean it up when you’re done." I handed you the full jug of water. “Be careful on the stairs.”

We ran through this scenario a dozen more times and each time you’d come inside you’d have more to tell me.

“We’re making ice sculptures.”

“We’re going to make a giant fort.”

“We sure are using a lot of water!”

I am not always so grateful for your willingness to share. I’m not always so gracious about the mess you make on my floor. But every now and then I try to step back and remind myself that you’re not always going to be so excited to tell me about your day, or your ideas, or the girl who makes your stomach do somersaults. One of these days you’re going to walk through the door with your head down and your shoulders bunched up. Until then, you are all snow forts and whoopsie’s and I’m doing my best to enjoy them for what they are.

Love,
Mommy