AJ and I went to pick out a real big boy sled today. It�s red. This quality is its chief attraction for AJ, although I myself am kind of partial to the fact that it�s manufactured by �Wham-O,� a company I know next to nothing about, except that in my childhood it seemed to be responsible for innumerable toys advertised during Saturday morning cartoons � toys that we did not own but our neighbors who had everything did. The sound of the announcer saying �by Wham-O� is eternally etched in my brain (what a waste of valuable thinking space). Upon further investigation, it appears that in addition to making Frisbees and Superballs and assorted items that involve turning water into a weapon, Wham-O make a machine that lets you make your very own Marshmallow Peeps. This would come in handy next time AJ and I want to watch them explode in the microwave. Or reenact some of our favorite science experiments.

But back to the sled. Late this afternoon, after AJ�s nap, we headed to the hill up the street to try it out. The sledding hill dominates the summer horse pasture. At the top it begins as a gentle slope that falls off evenly on all sides away from the road for a ways. To the front, it then drops precipitously and ends in an icy slide across the frozen, rocky creek. This is the slope favored by daredevil boys with snowboards. To the left, it falls into frozen grasses that impede one�s progress and have a tendency to tip sleds over. This side is favored by boys taking girls out on sleds. We, however, headed to the right, where the slope begins gently, then gradually steepens before flattening out just before the creek meets the fence.

Standing at the top of the hill, the sledders at the bottom looked miniscule. AJ paused for a moment of contemplation before jumping on the sled. He got about halfway down before he tipped over and stood up giggling. Tipping over then became the object of the game. Also on our hill was another family whom we know vaguely from local functions. They have a daughter AJ�s age and a son who�s just past one. They came with their two big, galumphing black dogs who chased their sled down the hill every time. Even AJ, who is generally afraid of dogs, was fascinated. �If we had a dog, Mommy, would it chase our sled down the hill?� he asked wistfully. Even more exciting, though, was when the dogs stopped their chasing of sleds and rolled on their backs in the snow. �Look, Mommy, they�re making snow angels! No, dog angels!�

Eventually AJ got tired of going it alone and pressed me into service. I sat on the sled somewhat nervously, as I�m quite out of practice, and AJ clawed his way onto my lap (insofar as one can claw anything in finger-immobilizing mittens). We zipped down so quickly that my breath caught in my throat. My added weight sent us skittering across the creek and almost to the roadside fence before we flipped and came up sputtering. It was a long hike back up to the top, but definitely worth it. We went up and down the hill until the dark drove us home.

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