Woke up to new, beautiful snow. Matt is in Europe so the kids and I set off to walk to Starbucks. Of course Prize-Winning-Mummy had left Whit’s snowboots at school, so he (and I) were in rainboots. Snowpants all around. The kids had a blast jumping around in the snow (in between Whit’s screaming and whining that his feet hurt soooo badly!) and waving to the snowplows. Who knew that snowplows were such fine entertainment?
When we got home Grace and I dug out the cars. She brushed off both cars with the ice scraper/wiper and I shoveled. Whit observed from inside (wise man). My feet are so cold right now that I’m having a vivid sense memory to 6th grade where I used to cry when coming off of the ice every single time, my toes frostbitten and unmoveable (do we really think that figure skating barefoot helps you “feel the ice”? In retrospect I’m calling that bunk).
It will not surprise those of you who have called me a bulldozer that my favorite method for digging out cars is to do a bare minimum of actual digging before climbing in and driving in and out of the spot twenty times, thereby flattening the snow into submission.
So the cars are “dug out,” the snow gear is in the dryer before we put it back on for skating, and the kids are playing with Christmas robots and trucks in the next room. The Russells gave Whit a Transformer robot that says “I am one bad bot,” which Whit cannot be convinced is not “I am one fat butt.” This hilarity continues to entertain, even 17 days after Christmas.
sounds like a nice morning
secret me