Ill Prepared


My favorite step-sister is in town this week, and Robbie and I ventured down to Harvard Square to meet her for dinner tonight. Since I was running about half an hour late, we drove down instead of waiting for the bus. I dreaded paying $20 for parking, so I nabbed the first parallel parking space I found.

Not wanting Leah to be waiting for us any longer than she had to, I tossed Robbie into his stroller, strapped my purse onto the back, and took off. I thought enough to plop a hat on his head. But I didn’t grab gloves for Robbie or myself. I actually am not sure where his mittens are, since he pulls them off as soon as I put them on his hand. And mine… Mine were in the front seat of the car. Going back for them wound have required leaving Robbie on the sidewalk, making my way over a five-foot wide, three-foot high mound of snow. I figured I could tough it out.

Not so much. Our hands were fuh-reezing by the time we made it to the restaurant. What I had not thought about was how badly it hurt to have the heat return to your hands after being cold. And I really didn’t think about how that might feel for a certain little boy. He screamed for about five minutes, completely inconsolable.

Fortunately, Robbie was able to make a quick recovery once his hands warmed up enough for him to grab some pens and start coloring. He did surprisingly well throughout dinner, too. Robbie ate his chicken, dipped bread into artichoke dip, made friends with the people at the next table… You know, the usual.

And I’m so glad that I got to spend some time with Leah. We usually only see each other at Christmas and maybe once during the summer. In the eleven years our parents have been married, we’ve never hung out just the two of us. It’s a shame it took so long for us to do it, but I’m glad we finally did.

For those of you concerned about Robbie, the trip back to the car was rough. I wrapped his hands in my scarf, which he dropped part way to the car. I figured it wasn’t worth the pain of our poor little hands to go back and find it. Robbie cried for about five minutes after we got into the car, and then it was off to dreamland. He’s tougher than he looks!


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