Sam Says It’s Snowing

Tonight, after I came downstairs from work and said goodbye to our babysitter, Sam came running up to me and said “Mommy, can I play with Sam?” We’ve been working on pronouns in speech, so I corrected him and said “Mommy, can you play with me?”

“Mommy, can you play with me?” he says in perfect imitation. Taking my hand, he pulls me to the living room and points to the floor. “Look, it’s snowing!” he says.

“It is?” I ask.

I take in the scene: his favorite blue blanket spread out in the middle of the floor and Thomas placed on top, peeking out from under a paper snowflake his aunt JT made for him on her last visit. Also nearby: a weighted helium balloon from a weekend birthday party.

Sam is very much attuned to the weather and seasons these days. So much so, that during our daily schedule-making he will first ask me what the weather is like and then dictate to me accordingly: Number 5: It’s a sunny day or It’s a rainy day, get Sam’s raincoat! He is also fascinated with hurricanes, tornadoes and windstorms.

“Wow, Sam, is Thomas in a snowdrift?” thinking that surely he was recreating a scene from a video.

“No, Mommy. I need my snow coat and snow cap. Come with me.” I’m pretty sure we’re recreating something since he’s never called his hat a snow cap before — I’ve never called his hat a snow cap. “Mommy, you need a scarf. You have a good scarf?”

“Um, okay. Yes!” All bundled up we return to the living room where I await further instructions.

Handing me an empty bucket, he says “Here’s your caco!” It takes me a minute before I realize he means cocoa.

“Oh, yummy, this is so good! Thank you. Have some cocoa with me,” I say and hand him an empty tupperware.

Smiling, he takes a sip.

“Mommy, I need my Thomas skates.” He disappears for a minute and returns with his Thomas Crocs. (Yes, everything Thomas and Teletubbies in this house.) After pulling them on, he brings over his father’s way-too-big slides and orders me to put on my skates.

“Stand up Mommy!” He starts tiptoeing on top of the blue blanket, which of course is the iced-over pond.

We hold hands and shuffle our feet along the floor. “Hey, how is Thomas doing?” I ask him.

We drop to the pond and Sam lifts the paper snowflake and says “Thomas is snowed. Here you go snow plow,” and he brings over a big blue truck to clear the way. Pulling the balloon, he says, “Here’s my christmas tree, thank you for coming to my christmas party!”

Some major pretend play, wouldn’t you say? I’m feeling more and more optimistic about regular preschool.

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