Snowy

I took this photo of our backyard just as the first rays of sun were hitting the snow. We had gotten a 15-inch storm the day before, and I liked how unspoiled (i.e. not yet tromped through by my children) the yard and woods looked.
At this point in the winter, snow is still a novelty. I love the anticipation as we watch the snow band creep closer to us on the radar, spotting those first tiny flakes, and then watching from the window as it silently covers the landscape like a smooth fondant. The girls can't wait to ditch their school backpacks and pull on snowpants. They refuse an after-school snack, grab sleds, and head out to the gentle slopes in our backyard.

Within six weeks, we'll all be moaning and complaining when snow is in the forecast, and I'll be feverishly checking the soil for any sign of daffodils. This is why Maine is the ideal state for us. By the time we're heartily sick of one season, the next one's rolling around. It's like ADD, but with climate.

Both girls chose a sledding party for their birthday parties this year. We scheduled them for back-to-back weekends (Bug's on the 31st, Bear's on the 7th) in a "let's get 'er done" kind of spirit. We'll truck the party guests to the big hill in town and enjoy (read: wear them out with) an afternoon of sledding and hot chocolate before coming home for dinner and a sleepover. Pray for me. Then send earplugs.

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And in the ongoing pleasures of life with a hormonal preteen...

Scene: last night, while watching TV.

Bear (in an irritated voice, while curled up under an afgan, beautifully knitted by her great-grandmother): I don't know how you're supposed to get warm with this. This stupid blanket is full of holes.

Me: Bear, it's an AFGAN.

Bear: It's a bad idea is what it is.