Wild Life

The snow this weekend was utterly reasonable and manageable, although it was enough of a factor to limit the number of excursions my little boy and I were able to take through the course of Saturday and Sunday. We left the house fairly early on Saturday morning (9:15 or so) so that I could go to the gym my wife and I just joined near the new house (said gym having a lovely childcare room, conveniently enough) and the dusting of flurries we drove through to get there had progressed to some significant accumulation under more serious snow (not a downpour, exactly, but what’s the crystalline equivalent – a downfloat?) by the time we headed for home, and we were homebound thereafter. We ventured out on foot later in the day, to start shoveling the driveway, but that effort did not last long. I had foolishly assumed that the mite would stay close to me and the tracts of asphalt I was clearing, but of course he wanted to explore the white-blanketed yard. I’m not sure he wanted to fall over into the yard snow multiple times, but I’m not sure he didn’t want to, either. He’s a fearless little madman.

Still, being stuck in the house for the vast majority of the day didn’t lead to too much cabin fever, and thankfully the boy is pretty good at keeping himself occupied. He was particularly amused by my gloves, which ended up on the foyer floor after the aborted shoveling attempt. Specifically by putting one glove on his tiny little fist, which had the effect of giving him one oversized, misshapen black claw, which he thought was AWESOME. It also afforded him a credible threat to brandish as he chased after me yelling “Raaahhhh!” That’s my boy. He has recently developed just enough attention span to sit still for an entire reading of Where the Wild Things Are. Clearly he is choosing his role models from these loftier entertainments as well.


By Sunday morning the snow had stopped, and although I shoveled most of the driveway in the morning so my wife could leave for work, I didn’t feel particularly compelled to brave the cold after that without good reason. And good reason did not present itself until my wife got home from work and we decided to acclimatize ourselves to the new town a bit more by engaging in the ancient tradition of Finding Take-Out. We located an Indian restaurant not too far away, called in an order, and all three of us went to fetch it. The results were entirely pleasing to the adults who partook in the meal (and our boy had few complaints about his own homemade and much blander dinner, for that matter) not only because the food was delicious but because it took us yet another step closer to truly feeling at home in our new house. Sometimes we feel a bit like frontier-expanding pioneers who have left behind the comfortable homes we once knew and proceeded to a wilderness where the most basic necessities – like a good jalfrezi – have to be discovered anew. Thus being able to put a good Indian restaurant on speed dial makes this new world seem that much more civilized.