Every year of his life, so far, it has snowed on Roan’s birthday. It’s something he counts on, and he fully believes that the world just somehow knows to celebrate in this fashion. This year was possibly the best snowstorm yet. It began during his birthday party, which amped up the already super-hyper vibe of the day. It lasted all day, and left our fair town covered in a blanket, which was obviously begging to be rolled around in.
I don’t know if it’s because he was born in December or if he’s super human or just super weird, but my boy feels no cold. He can be found with an unzipped coat on the coldest of days, no hat, no gloves. I gave up the fight when he was old enough to express his needs verbally – I figured if he was cold, he’d tell me and that I could end the epic struggle to force him into warm clothing. So far? In his six years? He’s not asked for the warmth yet. And while it chilled me to shivers just watching him bury his body in the snow this weekend, the strange little child couldn’t have been happier.