I'll wash my hair with snow . . .

So we've had our second big snow of the year, and though there is a lot of white stuff, it all seems pretty manageable. We are extremely thankful for our garage, NTB, as it means we don't have to scrape our windows nor search for parking amidst snow drifts and cars whose owners have decided to just stay put. I am likewise thankful that my husband considers it part of his patriarchal duty to shovel snow. Yesterday, he even got the bub suited up to help him out.

As do all little kids, the bub looks pretty darn cute in his snow suit. He can barely walk and when he falls down, he can't hoist himself up. He has little boots that light up when he stomps the snow. He really gets into stomping snow. The highlight of his outfit yesterday was his gloves. I couldn't locate his mittens so I improvised with a pair of mine. He was walking around with two cream-colored udders attached to his arms. Due to the glove situation, the bub and his dad were unable to get a snowman built but they did throw snowballs. I got to enjoy it all from inside the warm house, occasionally going to the window and knocking until I got a wave.

The most amusing thing is the report bub made when he returned, rosy-cheeked, from his time outside. It was concise: "Dad sha poo." Sha poo is apparently his version of shovel. When my hubby headed outside this morning to shovel once more, the bub narrated from inside: "Dad sha poo. Dad sha poo." Each time he says it, I conjure a fleeting but real image of my husband outside actually shoveling poop, and it cracks me up.

I hope all of you are well and that if you have snow, it is more beautiful than dangerous. I also hope that none of you actually has to shovel poo.


The bub outside during the season's first snow.


Help! Help! (Note that his mittens were still locatable earlier this month.)