As you may or may not know, we moved up to Northern New York in August and have been busy racing to get things done before the dreaded winter. I say dreaded winter because nearly everyone that we have spoken to has acted like it is the worst thing in the world.
I am not buying it.
But, with that said, I have been sure to take a few precautions just in case, and, to be honest, because I like preparing for it. It makes me feel like a homesteader.
I've spent a lot of time cutting, chopping, and stacking fire wood.
We've also been out collecting little sticks for kindling, building a carport for all the lawn equipment, clearing a little more land to be ready for a garden in the spring, and this has all taken up a considerable amount of time. Time I have enjoyed spending tremendously despite the many blisters I have accumulated.
But, in all my fun, I have forgotten something...the boys' mail box.
A month or so ago Mama Bear set up a large box as a play house that she put in the play room. The boys love it, and, naturally, no house is complete without a mail box, so she folded some cardboard into a triangle and voila instant mailbox!
To make the experience more fun for the brats, I would sneak little letters in there for them. Nothing extensive. Just quick notes telling them I love them and that I am thinking about them. They usually had a picture, and, occasionally, I might fold the little notes into a paper airplane, which is a hit.
Well, I am not sure when or how, but I stopped doing that, and I feel like a real bastard for it.
I got too caught up with playing outside and accumulating fuel to keep us warm and getting things ready so I can relax and live easy this winter, that I forgot that there are things that are just as important that need to be maintained, even if they seem insignificant to me.
The mail box, which just seemed like something cute and fun and ultimately unimportant to me was something entirely different to my sons.
The sad part, is I didn't now. I should have, but I didn't because I am a terrible father.
If I was a good dad, I would have noticed that they checked that mail box multiple times a day, hoping for a note or anything from me. But, I am not a good dad, and it took Mama Bear pointing out that they still check that mail box to me for me to notice.
I am just glad they hadn't given up on me, and I hope there is still time to make it up to them.