Yesterday was the first day either of my kids have really played in the snow. Last year, Grey was too little to walk around in it, and the year before that Harvey was too little. Yesterday was the first good snow we have had this year, and all the neighborhood kids were out in the circle, building a fort in the snowplow pile.
We had a wide variety of hand-me-down snow pants and boots to choose from, but the boys were pretty skeptical about putting them on. (Read: I had to try about four pairs on each of them, and they were screaming the entire time.) The minute Jed swung the front door open, though, they forgot about their fluffy-pant woes and raced out to see the other kids. (I just love these neighborhood kids. They hang out in our garage after school all the time, to keep Jed company while he builds cabinets. They stand on my porch and wait for Harveys school bus to come. They stayed and played in the back yard with Grey when Harvey banged his head last week, and I had to rush him to the doctor. (Jed was just in the garage working.) They always knock on my door and ask "Can Harvey come out and play? or "Do you need any help with Grey?")
Yesterday, the older boys taught Harvey how to have a snowball fight, and Harvey loved it. Grey had two methods of getting around in the snow. The first was to lay with his tummy on the ground and scoot through it like a baby snow seal. (This method allowed for ease of snow-eating; he just had to lower his nose and open his mouth.) The second was to bat his eyes at some of the big girls until they picked him up and carried him wherever he wanted to go.
Sister Terry came outside to give all the kids a ride on her four-wheeler, and I resisted my helicopter-mother urge to make her wait while I went inside and got Harveys bicycle helmet. (None of the other kids were wearing helmets, and she was only driving around the church parking lot very slowly.) Harvey thought he had died and gone to heaven. I should have gotten him a 4-wheeler for Christmas.
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