Momentary Northerners

This winter I finally got my fill of snow.

Our big hill in the side yard finally met its potential. It is no longer only a redneck tarp-covered water slide.

Although we received an acceptable (by Southern standards) amount of snow on Christmas Day, we never anticipated the dumping that would occur two short weeks later.

Monday, January 10- inconveniently also the first day of crunch for Stuart Little - it came down in sheets. And not just that day, but the next as well. SNOW! is what is written on both boxes in my calendar. As in "SNOW! Who could imagine?!?"

Last year Mouse would have no part of it. This year she donned her little pink parka and cap and was the cherry on the sundae of our sled.

The kids (and me!) discovered the joy of "piling on" this year. No one offered Birch a turn.






Walter, as usual, is fun to watch like a drunk on stage. He's understandably perplexed by the cold white stuff.


I'm pretty sure you get the gist of his experience here.

For three days our town was literally shut down. By the third day, I was finished with the snow. How long can one survive without a Chick-fil-a run?

Factoring into this is the "I would've never bought this house on this street that angles straight up towards the sky if it EVER snowed here" hill we had to first make it down and around before we could rejoin society. It was four, FOUR!, days before I left the house. Did I mention it was four days before I left the house?

But, for the part of this glass that's half full, for two days while I still thought snow was fun, we lived a continous cycle of

1. Layer up.
2. Sled your brains out.
3. Strip on the front porch. (fun for our neighbors, I'm guessing)
4. Nuke up some hot chocolate.
5. Veg on the couch.
6. Repeat.

I'm a snow-lover. But even I have my limits, people. And I'm pretty sure I reached it.