Yesterday was the much-vaunted Snow Day, and I took the Nine Year-Old out sledding. Now, normally I stay safely on top of the hill, happy that I am a Parent and thus do not have to sled.
But my guy is an only child who spends a lot of time with me, and likes doing stuff with me. He particularly likes it, being a kid after all, when I do non-Parent type things. Like sled.
So he and I spent almost two hours sledding in Prospect Park, and since we were on a steep hill preferred by teenagers and the feckless, we hit a lot of people with our sled. And were hit back. I tried to combat it with screaming as we went down the hill, sort of an aural warning system, but we still nailed quite a few sledders.
Honestly, once I got past the fact that I Really Don’t Like Sledding, Or Much Physical Activity in General (like, fun physical activity. I like the gym and I don’t hate running, but I don’t like playing sports), I had a blast. I decided that my guy wouldn’t have nearly as much fun if his mom was a pooky-face, so I whooped it up and was definitely, even admitting for my own bias, the most fun Parent on the hill.
The worst was walking home–we were both sodden, it was well below freezing, and we were over ten blocks from home. But it was worth it.
So I am taking that “Megan Is A Participant!” spirit into my writing, since I am trying to wrestle this novella into the ground, even though there is no deadline or anything. Because, as Steve Forbert said, “You cannot win if you do not play.”
Okay. I’m playing.
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You go girl! Sledding and writing. That’s how it’s done.
this is why they have those dogs with the little kegs under their chins!