Wading in a Winter Wonderland

Like most Midwesterners, I am accustomed to meteorologists predicting bigger, badder, storms than what actually ever occur. Weather guys are like excited puppies whenever there’s the slightest hint of drama: they can barely contain themselves and eventually they piddle from the excitement (I'm sure of it). So you can understand why last week, when our local weather puppy started squeaking about predicted “sno-mageddon” (10 to 16 inches and whiteout conditions) I was pretty skeptical.

Well – today I stand corrected. Right behind a five-foot snow bank, that's me, eating my words. Almost 18-inches of snow fell, and the drifts are waist deep.

The weekend was supposed to be one of our insane sports weekends, with multiple basketball and soccer games scheduled. Instead, nothing. Nearly everything in our snowy metropolis shut down, even busses and plows. Driving was treacherous, even for us seasoned northerners, so we stayed in – and out, as was the case. Randy shoveled five or six times, and the kids played outside in the big snow. Ethan strapped his Nordic skis on and took advantage of the deserted streets, until the powdery stuff got too deep.

Ethan gave Abby a lesson on his skis.

I had been wondering when we were going to fit our annual Christmas cookie baking marathon in this month. Randy and I bundled up and waded through the snow on foot to the grocery store and bought three bags of ingredients, and the whole family helped bake for two days. I’ll tell you, pushing through the snow with ice stinging our eyes and visibility less than half a block, I thought a lot about Pa. Not my dad, Charles Ingalls, tying a rope from the house to the barn. Ah, I get it!

Cookie making with Madame “I DO!” (“I insist on doing every single thing my siblings do”) was... entertaining. She is an experienced little dough handler from her hours spent with Playdoh, but rolling round balls instead of long worms proved difficult for those chubby little mitts. The older girls had to do a little reshaping. But Mira was remarkably good about not putting her fingers in her mouth. I don’t think she realized that the clumpy substance caked between her fingers was really yummy until after we were done.

And if that photo didn’t destroy your appetite, nothing will.

What else might one do when snowed-in, if one were, say, a bored teenage boy?

I am quite sure this is not how I set up my Christmas village.