We're raising a Minnesotan

I often think about the fact that Jude will need to write on forms that his place of birth is St. Louis Park, Minnesota.  I know that I have lived here for over 6 years now, but I am still in denial that I am a Minnesotan.  However, there is absolutely no denying the fact that my son is a Minnesotan.  I put together a table to illustrate some of the differences in our childhoods.

Growing up, Lindsay… Growing up, Jude… Had earthquake drills Will have tornado drills Had to siphon the pool when it got too rainy Will have to shovel the driveway when it gets too snowy Knew salt only as a seasoning Will understand that the important uses for salt are water softening and road maintenance Thought icicles were something in movies Will have to watch for falling icicles that can stab him in the eye Never owned a pair of winter boots Will have to master the art of wearing boots and changing into shoes Had a locker only big enough for a backpack Will have a locker for his snow pants, boots, coat, hat, mittens, scarf, and backpack Did not know that other kids didn't get to ride their new bikes on Christmas day Will know that the best gift for Christmas is a sled, not a bike Needed to know how to pronounce Spanish words to navigate her hometown Will need to know how to mispronounce Native American words to navigate his Always played Duck, Duck, Goose Will have to lead a double life of playing Duck, Duck, Grey Duck at school and Duck, Duck, Goose at home Ate casserole Will eat hot dish

I understood another of these differences on Sunday when Liz and I took Jude out sledding.  First, I realized that I had never, in my entire life, put on a pair of snow bibs.  Not on me.  Not on anyone else.  My son knows how to say "snow pants" and he isn't even 2.  I don't think that I even knew what they were until high school.  

But back to the bibs.  We decided to go out and try his new sled, which meant putting on his snow bibs.  First, I had an internal debate about whether he needed to wear regular pants if he had snow pants on.  I decided that of course, he had to wear regular pants (okay, I totally doubted myself and did not say of course, but I was right anyway).  So I got his snow bibs unzipped and put them on.  Backwards.  I put my son's snow bibs on with the zipper in the back.  Liz came downstairs and was mortified.  She explained that his pants were on backwards, proceeded to show me that there was a "butt pocket" that was now in the front, and insisted that I turn them around.  I asked her how she knew that the snow pants were on backwards.  She looked at me incredulously as if to wonder how I did not know that fact.  

Here's why I don't know that.  My family is not a fan of "gear."  More than once, I have heard my mother say "I like being at the beach, but I don't like going there.  It's all that 'gear.'"  Here, she was referring to sunscreen, towels, change of clothes, umbrella, etc.  The Heys are infamous for refusing things that take "gear."  Which is precisely why, I believe, we never did any snow-related activities.  Too much gear.

This gear overload concept was well-demonstrated as we spent 15 minutes getting our toddler ready to play outside.  At the end of the process, the kid had so many layers on that he "couldn't put his arms down" like Randy in the Christmas Story.

But we finally made it outside.  And although it was cold (listen to the wind whipping in the videos), Jude had a blast.  At the top of the hill, he yelled "Ready, Set, Go" as Mama and Mommy raced down the hill.  He said shrieked "Bump! Bump! Bump!" as he glided down the sidewalk.  And although you can hear him ask to go home at the end of both of the videos, my little Minnesotan had a fantastic first adventure playing in the snow. Even if his mom would rather play in her flip flops.