The kid has a brown and white snow suit that I found in a dumpster out the back of our apartment building.
The first day of school in the New Year, we suited her up in the snow suit, packed her a tuna sandwich, and sent her back to the wonderful school she calls home for half the year. When we came back that afternoon to pick her up, her teacher pulled us aside and with great amusement related that at recess time the kid was marching around the playground, pointing to the snow suit, and asking everybody "Have you ever seen one of THESE before!?!?". Her native Detroiter classmates looked at her like she was from another planet, which in a way, she is.
This child of the desert, this child who had never seen snow fall until two weeks ago, this child who cowers under my legs every time it rains thinking that we are about to be drowned in another cyclone, this child, cannot get her head around the concept of a Snow Suit. She thinks that a snow suit is the most amazing thing ever invented, and although we cannot get her to agree to wear anything other than her pajamas to school, the mere mention of the snow suit throws her into a fit of glee. Her love of snow and ice confirm, once and for all, that this is, indeed, my daughter.
Every day that the temperature has been below freezing, we have trekked over to Belle Isle to inspect the progress of the Ice Tree. Day four, it was perfect for sliding around, getting wet, and enjoying the ice.
|The Ice tree on Belle Isle.|
Tomorrow: Fred's Unique Furniture: the only reason I go the other side of Eight Mile.