Whine: Curse Sonic and their “Limited Time Only” ploy. I was on the verge of making a good decision and settling for a half-price Diet Coke. But then I realized that if I didn’t get the chocolate cherry shake today, I don’t know when I’d get another chance. Limited Time Only, my foot. I fall for it every time.
Cheese: The reason we were at Sonic in the first place is because Lil’ Sis used the potty chair. AT PRESCHOOL. Are you kidding me? What kind of alternate universe is this??? I don’t know, but I think I’ll stay a while. I like it here, it’s very clean and dry.
Speaking of alternate universes, I suppose it’s time to for me to hop on the bandwagon and post my “holy-cow-we’ve-never-seen-this-much-snow pictures.” Let me just say, I grew up in the frozen tundra of the midwest and I know my way around a snowbank, so last Friday was not the first time I’d seen a large amount of snow. But I’ve lived in Texas for almost twenty years now and have got to say that for us that snow was EPIC.
Now I know that while the more southern states were freaking out and cancelling school, the true northerners were probably feeling quite Snowlier Than Thou. My Uncle Dave defines this as “the attitude exhibited by persons of Northern descent towards those that are more snow-challenged after any snowstorm, whether it is one inch or three feet. Usually accompanied by eye-rolling and mocking laughter.” Don’t deny it, yous guys, you know you were.
But I sure didn’t care who was rolling their eyes or laughing, I got to play with my kids in the snow!! I have such fond memories of sledding and skiing and building snowmen and eating snow (the white stuff only), and I felt such joy at getting to let them in on what winter is actually like.
Until it was time to get ready to go outside.
First, I made sure everyone had gone potty. Those layers are a beast to peel off in case of a tinkle emergency. Then I put three layers of pants on each person, me included, which ensured that I looked like a whale who was seriously off course. Then we went for the coats, hats, gloves, scarves, etc. Which left all of us in pretty good shape. Except for the feet. Noone in Texas owns snow boots. We hardly have close-toed shoes let alone waterproof boots. I was tempted to cover the kids’ feet in plastic bags, but the fact that we’d already spent 30 minutes bundling up won out and we headed out with our inadequate footwear.
The "before" shot. You can tell because noone is crying yet.
My first order of business was to teach the girls about snow angels before the snowy yard became covered in tiny footprints. I showed them how you carefully plop down on your bottom. Then you lean back and swoosh your arms and legs across the snow. And then you gingerly get up so as not to disturb your angelic silhouette. Except I forgot to factor in one tiny detail.
I am eight months pregnant.
So there I am lying face up in a heap of snow, stuck on my back like a very unfortunate and bloated turtle. My kids are not too compassionate, mostly they are laughing at me flailing around in my eight layers of clothing as I try to return to an upright position. Forget not disturbing the angelic silhouette. I just needed to get up. I finally rolled over onto my knees and hoofed myself up, but not before making a note to myself about who should and should not do snow angels.
At that point Big Sis had taken enough direction on how to enjoy the snow and proceeded to spend the next thirty minutes engineering a snowman. Lil’ Sis spent the same 30 minutes whining, fretting and crying. Girlfriend does not like to be cold. She finally stopped fussing and found a suitable activity. Walking next to the curb, dragging her feet through the three inches of slush. In her mary janes. Whatever.
Looks like fun, doesn't it?
Two jolly, happy souls.
The next day was even better though. First, because we got a bunch more snow. And second, cause Mr. Dad had the morning off. So we went through our layering ritual, stuffed the fluffy children into their carseats and headed to a nearby school. Then we went sledding.
What do a plastic swimming pool, a tabletop, a garbage bag and a laundry basket have in common?
Yep, you’re right. They double for a sled when you are in a pinch. We slid down that tiny hill about a hundred times. I’m not sure who had the most fun, although I can guarantee you it wasn’t Lil’ Sis, who again spent most of her outdoor time railing against the cruelty of Old Man Winter. I feel sorry for that girl if she ever has to live where forty degrees is a mild winter. And as luck would have it, she’ll probably marry a Canadian.
But Mr. Dad and I had a blast sledding down that hill long after Big Sis lost interest. I felt a tad foolish, a grown woman who couldn’t even use her kids as an excuse for sledding down that hill again, cause one was off crying and the other building yet another snow man. But hey, we get this much snow down here once every lifetime, so I was not going to let feeling sheepish stand in my way. Even when I fell off the sled at the bottom and couldn’t get up.
Lil' Sis did not find this amusing.
By Saturday most of the snow had melted, we had used our annual bundle of firewood and the heavy coats and scarves had been returned to the back corner of the closet. And I was glad. I used to think I missed the snow. But now I know the truth: two days a year of the stuff is plenty for me. If I need more than that I’ll book a flight to Canada.
