Reed has always been such a good travel buddy, but now he’s a SUPER road tripper. Hours in the car up to Oregon, so excited to see his grandparents that he doesn’t even nap, immersed in searching for wildlife through the scopes of his binoculars, ever and always absorbed in his audio books. A quick blip to check out the great herd of elk among the tallest of redwood trees, breezing up along the Pacific, too windy to stop and play, lest we just blow away, up into the clouds, never again to land on this Earth.
A day in the snow. Alas Reed can finally where his ski sweater and hat to go SKIING. (To be honest, we may have driven five hours just so the ski sweater could finally see some action on the slopes.) Realize with some level of awe that snow really sticks to wool with a force not foreseen. Truly something. A walking four-year-old snow ball, snow gobbed onto wool, layer upon layer. Nothing hot chocolate can’t fix. All the same, the skis click on, he’s up, he’s down. The bunny hill is conquered, or so it seems, on this brilliant spring day.
Now, tuckered by his adventures, Reed sleeps. Mom (that’s me) finishes her wine and starts afresh on her top, now more confident that she will indeed have enough yarn after all. One less thing on the long list of worries.
Tomorrow, we fish.