Off the Script

The snow turns gray and piles up in the tire wells of my cars.

(I usually like to use the word grey, but this is mess is gray.  Not nearly as pretty as the solemn grey one might paint in the entryway of her home.)

The boys love to come out from school and see what kind of frozen madness has stored up in that space.

“Tucker! Come look on this side!”
“Tyler! Look at this – kick right… here!”

And there is an avalanche of gray slush and giggles.

As we got into the car, I said, “Guys, I really appreciate how you weren’t fighting over who would kick the snow off the tires. You were giving each other chances.”

They looked at me as if I had degraded them.

“Mommy, why would we fight? That’s something ’emenies’ would do. And we’re not ’emenies.’  Why would you ever think that?”

(Why would I?  Why would I ever, ever think that?)

“Oh, you’re not? Well, that’s great to hear. Can you tell me what you are?”

They look at each other and think. I’m fishing for something to validate my years of investing in their friendship, both in the past and in the years to come. Something like, Mommy, we are brothers in blood and in spirit and we are forever thankful you had two children and gave each of us a built-in best friend. You know. Something easy like that.

“We are wolves.”

“Wolves?” Wolves?

“Yes. Wolves are in a pack, and they always stick together. A wolf never leaves the other wolves in his pack. That’s like us.”

wolves

An even better answer than the one I had scripted for them.

Most of all, because they don’t need a script from me.

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