Playing in a winter wonderland

It was always cold enough for the T-ball field ice rink at the East Side Rec (which we loved, and where my Dad and his siblings and friends had grown up speedskating), and always snowy enough for lots of sledding (we favored Congress Park and the High Rock hill -- both now off limits), and snuggling under a blanket with hot chocolate was always the best ending.

I loved my childhood winters, and I really wanted great winter memories for my kids. So I've been delighted this winter by all the snow -- a real, bona fide Saratoga winter! A white Christmas! Snow days and walking to church pulling the boys on a sled!

But one thing I hadn't realized or remembered in my nostalgic daydreams is that, to play in the snow, little ones need to be wearing their snowsuits.

Oh, snowsuits!

"Yard? Pwee, Mom?" Gabe kept asking one recent morning, and I sighed, because I can think of few things more painful (for me, anyway) than getting my children into their snow gear. It just takes so long, for one thing; for another, I have to be sure I can find every necessary article of clothing. Also, nobody in my house seems to want me to get them all dressed up -- even when going outside was their idea -- and when I decide they must not want to go outside and give up trying to dress them, they wail and flail and assure me that, yes, they do want to go outside and play, "Pwee, Mom?"

I thought it would be funny to time the process, just to see how long it really took. I started at 10:32, and the boys didn't step out the back door until 11:01 -- a whole half hour spent wrestling two small boys into bulky snow clothes! But finally, out they went, and I stood inside the back door, warm in my slippers and warm in my heart, watching this vision of happy, healthy childhood.

Until I had to yell into the otherwise silent outdoors, "Stop throwing snow at your brother!" and "Don't push your brother!" and "Get away from that hole in the fence!" And until Thomas came traipsing up the steps of the deck and said, "I have to go potty."

It took real, sustained effort to be patient as I unwrapped his scarf and took off his coat and snow pants and hat and gloves and boots. And then I looked outside and Gabe was kneeling in the snow, playing in a drift, bare handed. Bare handed? "Gabe! Where are your gloves?" I yelled out to him, and he looked at his hands and then at me and started to howl.

Out I went, across the yard to retrieve Gabe, who was freezing and crying. I found his mittens nearby, filled with snow, and knew that was it -- no more playing outside that day.

It was 11:17 -- I'd spent the previous forty-five minutes doing what seemed like nothing productive, ending up exactly where I started -- with the boys inside on a snowy, a house still a mess and things still undone, and it was nearly lunchtime. The morning might have been salvaged if we'd then shared some hot chocolate together while snuggled under a blanket, but neither boy likes hot chocolate, and I was too annoyed anyway.

Fortunately, most of the boys' outdoor days have been much more successful than the one I've just recounted, and one of the reasons, I think, is because of something another mom once suggested: The dressing and undressing can be looked at as the actual goal, as the whole point, because of the time spent together, regardless of whether or not the "going outside to play" is actually achieved. (I've often thought that about diaper changes, too -- such concentrated one-on-one face time is often hard to find when you're a mom of little ones). With such a mindset, the whole process (snowsuits or diapers or whatever) can seem quite nice, right? At least, that's what I tell myself as I wrangle yet another wriggly child into his snow outfit and hope he doesn't have to go potty five minutes later.

Kate Towne Sherwin is a stay-at-home mom (SAHM) living in Saratoga Springs with her husband, Steve, and sons Thomas (4), Gabriel (2), and John Dominic (6 months). She can be reached at sksherwin@hotmail.com.