A Christmas Story

Once upon a time (this morning to be exact), it was snowing. It was beautiful and serene, coming down in big flakes. I bundled my kids up, made them wear boots, and started walking to school with them. We kicked the snow in front of us, the wind at our backs. When we were almost there, Wyatt had fallen behind and all of a sudden I heard him screaming in panic behind me. When I turned around, he was stuck face first to the light post, his little tongue frozen to the icy metal. He was starting to really panic, and his tongue was already bleeding a little from his failed attempts to pull it loose.

Yes, we did see A Christmas Story--the stage version put on by Lawrence Community Theater--this week, and Flick was my son's favorite character. But Wyatt wasn't triple dog dared or anything. He did it on his own.

I ran to the closest house, rang the doorbell and asked them for some warm water, but by the time they brought the water the warmth of his tongue had freed Wyatt from his predicament. As we finished our snowy walk to school, he was crying and asking aloud why in the world he did that. I tried to tell him that was what this life is for--to learn from our own experience the good from the evil. He told me he didn't want to talk about it anymore.

Still, it was the funniest thing that happened to me all week. I giggled all the way home. Poor kid. Don't tell him you know.