The forecast today was for a high of fifteen, so I thought we might make our last zoo trip of the year, before it gets too cold to venture outside for hours of limited movement at a time. Sadly, what the forecast did not mention was that the morning low was 1. One sad, lonely little degree; and much too much too cold for the zoo. By eleven it had only climbed to eight. Eight!

Scratch the zoo, I said; "Frances, do you want to go to the bookstore or the dress store?"

"Book store!" she said.

"That's my girl!" I squeezed her. "You did such a good listening and good putting your toys away last week, that today you can go where you like. Are you sure you want to go to the bookstore?"

"Yeah!"

"What do you want to do at the bookstore?"

"I want to look at the toy animals."

"Oh. Ok...."

"Can I hold them?"

"Sure."

So we went to the bookstore; and after the bookstore, we went across the street to a real sit-down restaurant where Frances ordered a grilled cheese sandwich and french fries. She was her usual inhumanly well-behaved self, charming all the staff and patrons, never even squeaking above her normal volume, not throwing any food on the floor or asking awkward questions about the folks seated at other tables.

How did I luck out?

So, having rewarded her for her exceptional behaviour last week by taking her to the bookstore, and then rewarding her for her wonderful behaviour in the bookstore by taking her out for french fries and a grilled cheese sandwich, I felt I was then in the position of needing to reward her for her unbelievably good behaviour at the restaurant, but I didn't want to spend any more money.

"Do you want to go to the park, Frances?"

"Yeah!"

We put the books inside the front door, took off our jackets--it had finally warmed up, but was much too late to go to the zoo without dealing with rush-hour traffic--and set off through the woods to the park. The acorn assault was over, and leaves in shades of orange and brown thickly littered the floor, through which squirrels rustled and leapt. We collected a few gorgeous leaves for her collection, but the offerings were slimmer this year than last.

I don't know if it's the unseasonably mild temperatures we've had, or the relatively plentiful rain, but the colours this fall have been decidedly muted. The maple trees are mostly a muddy burgundy, the ash trees an amber yellow, the rest of them a crispy dusty brown. It's sad. Even the staghorn sumacs, which normally turn a violent scarlet, are this year only red.

I'd been looking forward to introducing Frances to the fall colour change; but there's not much to see.

Once we got to the park, we took turns going down the twisty slide (Frances insisted, and insisted too that I sit on the curb to watch her go down, just where she sat to watch me). The air is turning dry; each run down the slide left my hair and blue jeans static-y, and after only twenty minutes, my lips were chapped and my hands and mouth were as dry as the sahara. Time to go home.

It's fall. Even if it doesn't look like it.

Posted by Andrea at October 16, 2006 3:25 PM under The Green Toddler

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