It's cold. Really cold. Actually, I can't tell if it's really that cold or if I just can't get warm after three solid months of cold. On the bright side, we live in Minnesota, so we are probably only half-way through winter. Sweet.
Every day (I'm not exaggerating), as we walk out to the car to head to preschool, Gan asks me how many more days until the snow melts. Seriously, I'm bitter and angry about the snow, so it takes every ounce of self control I have to answer him in a loving-mother manner, to not scream, "HOW THE HECK AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW?!?! MAKE IT MELT!!! MAKE IT FRICKIN' MELT!!!"
Anyway, this post is not supposed to be about the depressing weather. The local weathermen have the franchise on that.
When the weather is too cold to be outside, my Mighty Murphys still find a way to be true to their essential selves. They were born athletes. Maguire tried dance class, but her heart wasn't in it. Her heart is in t-ball, tennis, swimming, basketball, and golf. Last summer, Gan could throw a baseball twenty yards or so and hit Ryan, while he was moving (if only I had the camera...). As much as I try to cultivate their artist-selves and their cooperative-selves, they are jocks, and they don't like to lose.
So, on a Friday night in late January, when all seems lost, you do what you do best. You have a Wii sports tourney.
There is tennis...
There is golf...
There is disappointment (she quickly recovered)...
There is joy....
There is Poj, questioning Dad's club choice...
It's the prototypical American drama, playing out right here in my own living room, while I have a glass of red wine. I guess I can see the art in that.
Love,
Momma T.
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