How ’bout we . . .
I wasn’t looking forward to shoveling the snow on Thursday night. It was already cold and dark when I got home, so that didn’t help. I was with alone with Leah, because Gina was working. I knew that Leah would want to “help” — which means that the job would take even longer. I was willing to wait until Gina got back from work but then I remembered that I had an errand to run at about 8:30. So I sighed and said, “Leah, I’m going out to scoop snow.”
And then she said the inevitable “I want to help!”
So we spent ten minutes trying to get dressed and then we got to the garage. We don’t really have a snow shovel that is a good size for Leah. And I couldn’t find Leah’s garden shovel, so I gave her my garden shovel — I figured she would probably get as much scooped with that than with her shovel.
And then we set out to tackle the driveway. I was doing fine with my shovel but Leah, as expected, was struggling with hers. I heard her say, “How ’bout we trade shovels?”
“No, Leah, this is Dad’s shovel.”
“Um, how ’bout I use your shovel and you use mine?”
About two minutes of this and I finally relented. She found that using my snow shovel wasn’t any easier. I finally got her to trade me back.
Again she said, “How ’bout I . . .” And I waited for it.
“jump in your snow pile.”
I said, “That would be fine.” And my frustration turned into delight as I saw Leah jump feet-first into the snowbank, squealing with delight.
Soon Leah found her sled in the garage and I helped her get it out and she slid down the hill by our driveway while I finished shoveling, and a lot of burden of shoveling was lifted.