seasons and snow

We sit across the table in a restaurant and people buzz around us. I lean in to listen to my nine-year old speak. These one on one times are rare in our family of five and I don’t want to miss anything he has to say.

He talks of bow and arrows and being the middle child. And I notice his hands flail as he tells stories. He’s maturing and I see it as we sit just the two of us. When did he become so funny and charming?

And we drive to the toy store. It’s the big one, forty-five minutes from our home. And he gallops through the door, looking back to make sure I’m close by. It’s crowded and I follow behind. I touch the things he touches. And he spends thousands of dollars in his head, as nine-year old boys do.

And we look at balls and games and Bionicles and Legos. And I naturally veer down the aisle of Thomas the Train, but he’s not beside me. I notice him steps ahead.

“Don’t you want to look at these?” I ask.

“I’m too big for that,” he says and he keeps walking. But I linger at the railroad tracks.  

And I watched a frazzled mother buzz by on her cel phone. Her little girl jogged to keep up. I wanted to politely whisper, “Slow down; it goes by faster than you think.” 

I caught up with Garrett minutes later. He was shifting a remote back and forth and staring at a screen. And this is where we are, surrounded by Ipods and docking stations and video games.

And this morning the first snow of the season came and blanketed the yard. To spite my objections, seasons always change and each one brings in a new day of wonder. And days of the past become memories and the new days become life as we know it.

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