I love that snowfall still thrills my son. I love that he jumps up and down at the prospect of playing in the snow and especially that he excuses mommy for having become such a wimp and hating the snow.

Jonathan loves to sled down a snowy hill and he especially loves it when he can do it with his Dad or his grandfather. Unlike his dad and I, Jonathan’s Grandfather, my dad, will go up and down that hill almost as many times as Jonathan wants.

Dad turned 68 this month and didn’t seem as keen as going up and down that hill as he once did and even attempted to tire the kid out by making sure the sled went further down the hill, which meant Jonathan would have to walk further. No task seemed too daunting for the “Energizer Bunny” though.No matter how far he had to walk he’d get to the top of the hill and say “Again!”

His one ride with mommy resulted in a near disaster as we missed clipping the flag pole by a mere two inches and I ended up having my camera buried in snow. Before we almost hit the pole I honestly heard the clink in my head and imagined we would both be bleeding within seconds. I have no idea how we missed that pole, but I joked with my aunt later that God probably rolled his eyes at my silly screaming and kicked the sled to one side while rolling his eyes and saying, “Good, grief…get a grip on yourself, child.”

I’ll admit that I was more worried about the camera than the state of Jonathan and I when it was all over since Jonathan was laughing and I still had all my limbs. That wild ride was my last and I made my poor father come out and finish the sled rides.

Jonathan didn’t seem to mind at all.

Of course, my dad might have minded the last couple of trips since my kid announced after that first ride, when he got hit in the face with flying snow, “I’m sitting in the back now!”

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Jonathan almost never seems to be still anymore. He is constantly moving, constantly talking.

He gets up early and tries his best to continue his rambunctious activity late into the night.

He wants to jump from couches and climb on stools and chase the cats and splash in mud puddles and play robots and play Iron Man and …

And that’s in only the first ten minutes of the day. I am a zombie by 11 p.m., but I often push my eyelids open simply so I can have a few moments to myself, without hearing a small voice telling me he’s just “helped” decorate the tree and without that feeling of dread that he’s about to leap into a trip into the emergency room.

I have an absolute blast with this kid — no joke.

A couple of years ago he got sick, so sick all he could do is sit in one place and stare. He wouldn’t eat or drink and wasn’t interested in playing. It was a horrible nightmare for his dad and I. On those days where we are so tired we can’t see straight but he’s still spinning in circles in the living room floor just to see how dizzy he can get, Hubby and I remember that illness and thank God he’s still with us.

We then ask for him to fall asleep for the night, just so we can think straight again and collapse from the mental and emotional exhaustion being a parent brings.

Even though we never want to see him like he was then, sick and pale, and completely uninterested in life, there is something so precious and perfect about our son when he’s finally surrendered to sleep.

We know his body is recovering from his full-on energy-filled day. And we know it won’t be long before he’s awake and ready to go again.

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