For the record, I do not like driving on snow.
I do not even like driving when snow appears imminent.
Just for the record.
So, this morning, as I prepared to head into the treachery of white, I looked at Younger, who was gloating in the bask of a second day off school, and stated, “You have to stop hoping for snow. Seriously.”
“No. Never. Not even in the summer.” He patted my shoulder. “I can have a snow day, and you can survive driving on snow. Both are possible.”
“Stop. Hoping. For. Snow.”
“You’ll make it, Mom.”
I did, actually. At about twenty-five miles per hour. With a string of traffic behind me.
But specifics really aren’t important.
What is important is I made it.
In the parking lot of my work, I texted Younger of my success. He wrote back, “Told u.”
Which means snow will still factor into his hopes and dreams.
Which means even if I survive the snow . . .
Younger may not.