April 14, 2021

Dear Will,

Amidst this crazy world I am desperately trying to say goodbye to winter and in true Willy fashion you keep mixing up snow and sending it down! These past three weeks have not gone without a considerable snowfall and then just to mess with my mind you pull out a blue sky with a sun so warm and bright that tiny green shoots poke through the snow to then throw in an hour or two of more of the dreaded flakes. Not the kind that melt on contact with the ground but at times the kind that blow sideways with the wind and feel like ball bearings are coming from the sky. Each time (and it’s been daily this week) I look up to the sky and mutter your name… at first it was with a smile, then the next time with an eye roll and a smile, the next time with a shake of my head and maybe not a smile… Each time my reaction building on itself and now I’m at the stern mother plea of “enough now”.

So, what do I hear in return?  You giggling. (How I miss that sound). Your contagious giggle followed by the phrase you (and your brothers) were famous for when you were 4 and 5 years old.  “You’re not the boss of me”.  That phrase on many occasions was part of your power struggle when you just didn’t want to succumb to my requests. Oh boy, I remember it well. We did have to pick our battles and, quite frankly, sometimes it wasn’t worth the struggle.  Here’s some I remember…

Me: “Will, no cookies before dinner. Even the ones in your pocket should go back in the jar.”

You: “You’re not the boss of me.”

(I think most times, I won this one.)

Me: “Please get in the car, Willy. We haven’t time to ride your bike to the dentist. And, we’re gonna be late.”

You: “You’re not the boss of me.”

(I definitely won this one. The dentist was in another town.)

Me: “It would be a good idea for you to put your brother’s skateboard back where you got it. Before he notices that it is missing.”

You: “You’re not the boss of me.”

(You won this one. Once.)

Me: “How about we put those rubber boots away (after wearing them for three months everyday). Your flip flops just might be more comfortable with your shorts?”

You: “You’re not the boss of me.”

(You won this one and wore your rubber boots until you outgrew them in the fall.)

Me: “Do you think we could leave the Batman cape in the car while we go into the grocery store?”

You: “You’re not the boss of me.”

(You won this one too.  On many occasions.)

So each time you poke me with more snow when I just want to see the grass turn green I am reminded that maybe now, you are the boss and that you must be lovin’ this. Knowing it drives me crazy and relishing in getting the coveted last word. Really, what could be better? Being the youngest of three boys meant it wasn’t often that you got the last word though it sure wasn’t for lack of trying. Up there, sweet boy, it appears you really are the boss. Throwing down the snow mixed with moments of blue sky and sunshine, watching me go from a winter coat and boots to a sweater and my Birkenstock’s, from wearing mittens to enjoying a cup of tea on my deck, from turning on the fireplace to opening the patio doors… what the heck, Will! As I think of what this must look like from your vantage point up there no wonder you’re giggling. Of course, you hold the boss card. Admittedly, the lesson is that it is only April and we are only onto our 4th snowstorm of Spring and I’m not holding my breath on you throwing down some more. You are the boss after all.

As for winter and saying good riddance, I know you’re happier than a clown up there never having to say goodbye to winter.  I imagine the snow is up to your eyeballs and that your skis are close by. And the sky is bluer than blue and it’s snowing at the same time. How do you do that?  Dumb question. I guess only a boss would know.

Green grass, sigh…. soon, I hope…

But, my winter boots are still at the front door.

I miss you, my sweet boy. More than you could ever know because there’s not a word down here that is big enough to describe that.

And, I love you, little boss. More than a bus parked on a patch of green grass with snow up to the roof under a bluer than blue sky.

Momxo