I am not the kind of person who would enjoy living in a temperate climate, sunny during the day, a cool breeze at night, flowers blooming continually. (Okay, maybe it would have appeal during the month of February. I hate February.) Call me crazy, but I love having four distinct seasons. Living in Nebraska, we certainly have weather extremes—sometimes all in a single day.
David, however, hates the change of seasons. I guess I shouldn't presume that. To be more accurate, David hates change—seasons or otherwise—and the change of clothes that accompanies a change of seasons can sometimes throw us into a tailspin.
Getting David to switch from sandals to tennis shoes or shorts to jeans is somewhat comparable to the Middle East peace negotiations. To get David to try something new, there is usually some coaxing, some compromise, a great deal of consternation, then a confrontation followed by a conflagration, but in the end we usually have to resort to flat out bribery.
The weather has gotten cooler and I was trying to prepare David for winter coat season. Of course, we had a coat for him to wear that had been Andrew's, but it was not the favored red, so I caved—I guess that is the compromise part—and bought a brand new red one to make the transition easier. So, on Monday we gave David a choice. If he wanted to go to swimming lessons, he had to be decked in his red and gray puffer coat from Target. Well, let's just say that he wore the coat, but not without a fight. And he was still so annoyed about it when he got home, that he ripped it off and threw it on the floor of the garage as soon as Michael had stopped the car.