I love the cold weather. My three-year-old son loves it too. But every year, around this time, we have a confrontation over clothes.

This morning it went something like this:

Slip on long-sleeved shirt: “What’s that? I don’t like it Mommy,” he says with a look of desperation. “Take it off!” I ask him to think of it like a pajama shirt for school.

He looks at me funny.

Slip on pants: His reaction is delayed somewhat because I was clever enough to call the dog into the room to distract him. Thirty seconds later: “It’s too long,” he says tugging at the pants. “I can’t walk.” "Let me put on your shoes," I tell him. "You’ll see you’ll be able to walk just fine."

He looks at me funny.

I hold off on the hooded jacket until I step outside to check if it’s really, absolutely, 100 percent necessary. Snap. It is.

“OK, Danny, we need to put on your jacket,” I tell him. Before he can turn to give me a look, I’ve already got one arm in the jacket and working on the second. I zip him up. He doesn’t move. It’s as if I’ve wrapped him in a straight jacket.

He eventually takes a step toward the car. And then another. Finally, we’re on our way to school. Once there, though, we enter a practically empty classroom.

“Where are all my friends?” my son asks.

“They’re probably all wrestling with their parents to put on their winter clothes,” his teacher explains.

I find comfort in knowing I’m not alone.

Then my son chimes in: “Mommy, take off my jacket.”

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