Housebound
It’s only mid-December. Already, more snow has fallen than in an entire average winter. Or so I was told at church, and I believe it.
Nearly-four-year-old Daniel has cabin fever. He suggested we go strolling around the block. I explained that it was very cold (single digits, Fahrenheit). He suggested we wear clothes. I explained that the snow was too deep for me to push Abel’s stroller. Daniel didn’t know what to say to that.
It’s now been well over a month since I last took the children to the library, which, in fair weather, can be walked to in less than ten minutes. Two days ago, I went without the children; the clerks just smirked at me. Ah, well, let them enjoy the quiet a little longer. I realize my sons are notorious. Abel, of course, is well-received; but now that he walks, who knows what havoc he might cause.
“Housebound” is a misleading title – I do leave the house. I’ve taken Samuel to his bus stop and attended church services and reading-group meetings. And last week, our family piled into the car and braved narrow, unplowed streets to watch Samuel sing in his school’s winter concert. (This was one of the songs.)
I had intended to try Kafka’s Castle again during this confinement; instead, I find myself caught up in a balmier book, Owen Wister’s Virginian.
Nearly-four-year-old Daniel has cabin fever. He suggested we go strolling around the block. I explained that it was very cold (single digits, Fahrenheit). He suggested we wear clothes. I explained that the snow was too deep for me to push Abel’s stroller. Daniel didn’t know what to say to that.
It’s now been well over a month since I last took the children to the library, which, in fair weather, can be walked to in less than ten minutes. Two days ago, I went without the children; the clerks just smirked at me. Ah, well, let them enjoy the quiet a little longer. I realize my sons are notorious. Abel, of course, is well-received; but now that he walks, who knows what havoc he might cause.
“Housebound” is a misleading title – I do leave the house. I’ve taken Samuel to his bus stop and attended church services and reading-group meetings. And last week, our family piled into the car and braved narrow, unplowed streets to watch Samuel sing in his school’s winter concert. (This was one of the songs.)
I had intended to try Kafka’s Castle again during this confinement; instead, I find myself caught up in a balmier book, Owen Wister’s Virginian.
