Just Super

There are days when I'm just pooped -- surgery, new puppy and life in general. Minus thirty with the windchill and a low pressure system that makes my head want to explode, it feels like all I need is a dose of springtime, fast! Adam and I headed to the movies yesterday, something he has begun enjoy these past several months for the first time. So far, he's seen Flushed Away, Happy Feet, Charlotte's Web and yesterday, a boring flick called A Night At the Museum. We headed back to the car and a gust of wind nearly blew Adam out of my arms and wouldn't allow the door of my Honda Odyseey to close. My fingers were frigid with pain. I vowed not to go out for the rest of the day, so we hovered over the fire and dipped strawberries in chocolate sauce.

I forgot it was Superbowl Sunday, because I just don't care. Well, not until it started. A friend and his son, a year older than Adam came over to watch it with Henry and Max. After his bath, Adam went downstairs to join the "boys," noshed on pizza and ate a few potato chips. He was positively giddy and silly, obviously enjoying the gang, and intrigued with the patterning of the football players and the numbers on the field, for a few minutes anyway. Snuggling in between everyone was much more fun. Later, he played a bit of ball with the five, soon to be six-year-old visitor, something we don't see often without prodding. He was jumping, laughing and all red in the face.

I took him to bed at eight -- it took a while to settle down. All I could remember is how giddy and silly and red in the face I used to get at his age when people were together, having fun, eating chips and pizza and free to play in the basement.

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.