We are definitely on the verge of winter here in da Keweenaw. We've already had several snowy days, high winds and power outages. That's just how it goes!
But it's getting colder, and Brady P. notices.
If the breeze is gentle, and we have a spot of sun, we will still go out and throw rocks. He needs an outlet for his pitching arm, or his toys get chucked repeatedly across the house, and I ain't havin' that.
Now it's the verge of winter remember, so I don't always bring important appendages like gloves. Unfortunately for Brady P, his hands are the first part of him to get painfully cold.
Sometimes, even before we get to the shore, he starts to cry this really whiny cry. It means he's cold. Sure enough, his little fingers are turning red.
"Warm up your hands on my face!" I tell him, as I press his palms to my cheeks. I hold my hands over his. These moments have turned into beautiful bonding.
If I am sitting beside him, he will walk over to me, let out his little cold whine, and put his hands on my cheeks.
This is where the magic happens.
As his frigid fingers embrace my face, his little arms bend, keeping his own face just a few inches from mine. As if that isn't tender enough, he looks into my eyes with the epitome of love that he is, gently cocks his head and smiles at me.
I melt. Lost in his pupils.
Our faces are so close that I can see the tear on his cheek and the little snot dripping out of his nose from the cold air. As I smile back, his smile gets bigger and he leans in for a sweet kiss, which mostly means that he transfers all the drool on his lower lip to mine.
I melt again.
I am so grateful for those moments. I wish everyone could experience it at least once.
After 15 - 20 seconds of sweetness from our souls, his hands feel warmer. He pulls them from my face and turns to find another rock to throw. I am left staring at him like the high school girl who just got dumped after a great night at prom.
But I know he still loves me. I am warmth to him. I am safety. I am his mother, and he knows I am here no matter what. The payback in his eyes and smile exceed everything taxing we've been through. I wouldn't have it any other way.
When the winds are high, and the sleet is pelting, we do not go throw rocks. Our beaches are gone. Here is just one picture of a transformed beach from the past week's turbulence.
"The beach by the bakery," as we call it
Notice the scraggly apple tree in the forefront. We usually sit in front of that. Not that day!
So I am working on finding a pair of mittens that actually keep his hands warm while allowing him to grip and throw rocks. Not an easy task to fit a munchkin with short, chubby fingers.
Thank goodness for his indoor bowling set!