Honestly, weather in all its forms has always fascinated him (of course this makes sense--he loves graphs, maps, science, and measuring. And it's tied to seasons and his other love--gardening). Sam is the go-to guy for weather reports. He reads them outloud to us on a daily basis, earning him the title "Weatherman Sam". I am planning to order him a rain gage as soon as I can free up about twenty dollars so he can "help" the local weather man by keeping track of our precipitation.
His interest intensifies at the onset of winter as he scans the skies and the weather forecasts, hoping for his favorite form of frozen precipitation. Every false report is meant with moaning and complaining about who got more than we did and how that's just not fair.We got a light powdering of snow just before Christmas, which excited him almost as much as his new camera did.However it wasn't enough to play in and only stuck around for a day.
But this morning we woke up to enough to play in. Immediately after breakfast, Sam and Joe put on coats and gloves and hats and went outside to romp in the white stuff. Solomon (my other snow bunny) was begging to go out too so I donned my warmest clothes (as many of them as I could find as I could find) and took my camera and dog for a short walk. When I returned I found that Joe and Sam had fallen to what boys fall to when presented with anything they can throw at one another.
Here is Joseph gathering snow for his first snowballs.
And here (as you can see) are two boys lobbing them at one another. Solomon would very much like to play too, but can't quite work out how to carry off those mysterious disappearing balls of snow.
And here is what happens when your big brother has a better aim than you do.
Solomon gave up on chasing snowballs and dug up Oscar's old Frisbee (which I was sure I threw away) and asked me to throw it for him.
3 comments:
Sam has quite the year, then, as we have a ton of snow! :)
Reninds me of my trip to America many years ago - I was standing outside my motel, light snow falling, when I saw this kid (about 6 or 7 years old) playing snow angels. Since he seemed to be by himself, I made a snowball, yelled, "Hey, kid!" and hurled it at him. I missed, he ran off screaming and all of a sudden the kid's dad (a veritable man mountain) came out from the side of the motel and asked me what the hell I was doing. I had to apologise quickly and explain that I was Australian - he calmed down after that.
Whew!
Yes he has, Mrs C. He's thrilled.
Scotty--You tell a good story. I couldn't resist retelling it to Gary and the boys. Everyone at my house was especially fond of "I explained I was an Australian . . ." If you are ever overcome by the urge to throw a snowball and you have a permanent invitation to come here and have a snowball fight with Gary and the boys. I, on the other hand, will be safely inside heating up the hot chocolate.
Post a Comment