Sadly, I did not have a snow storm baby this weekend. While it probably would not have been the most ideal situation, it definitely would have been an adrenline-enduced come-to-life drama rushing to the hospital on snowpacked roads. What a great story to tell! But alas, no dice. This baby appears to err on the side of caution.
We got a foot of snow this weekend. Our first snowstorm of the season and at least three times the amount of snow we got during any single storm last year.
As I watched the glitter begin to fall in the light of the streetlamps,
And while I watched Brian light the fireplace beneath the stockings and mantle garland,
I was thinking that I really could never begin to understand people whose hearts don't dance with joy at the thought of a December snowstorm. A real snowstorm.
As a born and bred Minnesotan, I'll never understand how it's possible to feel the coming of Christmas without some flakes.
Sometimes, when I sit in my 90-year-old home, and see the balsam wrapped around lightposts and branches glazed in white, and more pedestrians on foot and in sleds than in cars, I could almost swear we are living in a Dicken's novel.
A few weeks ago, when we were cleaning out the garage, Lucy spotted our sleds and she asked what they were. I wept for this child whose life has been too short to remember the last real snowfall. How can she be from Minnesota and not know what a sled is?! It was a real travesty.
But we remedied all that this weekend. Snow angels, snowmen, snowballs and sleds.
We were able to hold them indoors long enough to finish their breakfast before they went digging around the house for all their gear. Three hours later I was serving up lunch and they all went down for killer naps.
Because my generous (or maybe just powered machine-loving) husband insisted on snowblowing half of the neighborhood, we went to the last possible mass offered at our church; 5 p.m. on Sunday night. And because the snow was still falling, I'm hoping that God will forgive our appearance. "A" for effort?
We arrived via sled because it was easier than carrying the baby all bulked up in her pink snowsuit. And we trudged in wearing our boots, sweatpants and dripping coats, hats and mittens. But we were there and we smiled when the second candle was lit knowing Christmas is that much closer.
Because my generous (or maybe just powered machine-loving) husband insisted on snowblowing half of the neighborhood, we went to the last possible mass offered at our church; 5 p.m. on Sunday night. And because the snow was still falling, I'm hoping that God will forgive our appearance. "A" for effort?
We arrived via sled because it was easier than carrying the baby all bulked up in her pink snowsuit. And we trudged in wearing our boots, sweatpants and dripping coats, hats and mittens. But we were there and we smiled when the second candle was lit knowing Christmas is that much closer.
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