It snowed yesterday, the first real snowfall of the season. Grady was not amused. His introduction to snow started well because he was allowed to wear his boots (he loves his boots. He would wear his boots all day if I let him. Whenever I walk by the closet he looks up at me hopefully. "Boot? Boot?" It's like he won the damn lottery whenever it actually is time to wear his boots. He has this silicone jug for rinsing his hair in the bath. It sits on the side of the bath and every time Grady walks into the bathroom he tries to wedge his foot into it. "Boot?" "No bud, no boot." You've never seen such disappointment.)
So we put on our boots and we trekked out into the snow. It wasn't so bad at first, shuffling our way through piles of fluffy, untouched snow.
And then Grady tripped. Was Grady wearing mittens? No, he was not. Boots are the greatest thing in the world but mittens are of the devil. Keep up.
The look of utter disgust was priceless. I cannot describe the confused, angry, mewling sounds that came from his mouth.
Our snow adventure was short but memorable. For both of us.