It's all a matter of perspective, I guess. When I wake up on the weekend and the snow is falling in fat, heavy flakes, I want to stay inside. I want to bake cinnamon bread, drink coffee and curl under a blanket.
My children? They're scrambling into snow pants faster than you can say "Michigan winter." It's snowing!! It's snowing!! Time to get outside and build a gigantic snowman. No matter that there's not quite enough snow on the ground yet or that the snow that exists is heavy, soggy and stubbornly clinging to the sod - let's move it, people!!!
About 20 minutes into their project, I hear them call from outside: "Mom, we're moving the snowman to the front yard!"
I wonder briefly about the logistics of that endeavor. So does my husband, when he catches a glimpse of them about 10 minutes later. "Do you have any idea what your children are doing?" he asks me, sliding open the window. From outside, I hear sounds of exertion and breathless motivational direction. "Okay, push," my daughter calls to her brother. "Push harder."
My husband already has put on his coat. "I know, I know," he says. "I'm going."
Between the three of them, the giant base of Frosty the Snowman was finally moved to the front yard. I believe at this time his torso has been delivered as well, and soon his head will be in place. I just hope the big guy doesn't need a wife.
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