Snow days

We spent X-Mas up at Karen and Bonnie's in Massachusetts, where Oscar got to experience a genuine pre-Greenhouse-Effect winter wonderland, now rare for this time of year even in those northerly climes just south of the border with New Hampshire.

They'd had a couple feet of snow in recent weeks, followed by a smattering of rain that covered everything in a thick crust topped with an icy glaze. Oscar didn't really know what to make of it at first when we took him out into the backyard, stuffed into his moon-man snowsuit and clunky snowboots. While the packed snow held his 30-odd pounds, we adults sank through with a percussive crunch at each step. Karen and Bonnie procured a sled for him as well, so that we were able to pull him out aways into the deeper drifts, though he initially greeted this experience more with alarm than wonderment, as if worried that we might get stuck out there (possibly a legitimate concern).



But he soon warmed up to snow, and by Day Three he was demanding, for the first time ever, that we take him outside (he'd stand in the window looking out on the backyard, pointing and saying, "Out-tide? Out-tide?"). So we taught him about snowballs and sledding and walking on ice and slipping and falling down on ice. Karen even made him a mini-snowman. It was a really nice, restful and relaxing visit.



And then we got home and all hell broke loose. It's been tantrum city ever since. He won't sleep more than a couple hours without demanding to get into our bed or, if he's in it and we're not, that we join him. The slightest test of his will sends him around the bend. Last night, he finally escaped the crib for the first time, vaulting himself headfirst over the rail and to the floor, which naturally scared the crap out of us. I've been joking, when confronted with the occasional tantrum, in mock-Reaganesque that "We will not negotiate with terrorists." That night, as we lay in bed with our trembling escapee, Jen said, "The little terrorist has won." It was our Beirut.



He was sick for a couple days, but now we can only reason it's the lack of structure or something, since we're both home with him and there's no school and it's cold enough outside that we're inside most of the day. Tomorrow, we go back to work and he goes to Gramma's (or "Bama's"). On Thursday, he starts daycare again in a new class in a different building, which should be very traumatic. We can only hope that in a week or two, he'll settle into his new routine and calm down.