My sister, Toad, was the official witness. The conversation she described to me went something like this: Keefer, our twelve-year-old brother, is standing near the fireplace, pulling on his snow pants. He’s balancing on one foot and breathing through his teeth, struggling to get one foot through a pant leg that is turned up and inward at the ankle. His blond hair stands up on end as he begins to hop, kicking his leg out in front of him, trying to free his stuck foot.
“Mom, my dingy hurts,” he says, pausing for a moment from his flailing.
“You’re fine,” she says. Mom is searching through crates of snow gear, looking for her lost glove.
“But it hurts!” he says, sitting on the ground, continuing to fight the upturned pant leg.
