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A little bit of squashing. And unfreezing Littlest.

Still it snows.

And as AA Milne wrote -

'The more it goes (tiddly pom)
On snowing
Nobody knows (tiddly pom)
How cold my toes (tiddly pom)
Are growing.'

Littlest as Pooh. Littlest with frozen, red toes.
Littlest determined (despite the insides of her wellies harbouring sloshy puddles) to go out into the land of snow.
To hum (tiddly pom - actually, to sing Castle on a Cloud from Les Mis; something to do with the sweeping?) and work to keep warm -




Hat belongs to big brother - he'll never know!

Next job - got to keep busy in the cold - is creation of a snowman. 

When introduced later, Four-legged-friend clearly thought he could startle Mr Snow into dropping his nose, but so far the barking has failed to gift him the carrot.




Rehydration, hot chocolate style. Hot!




Followed by a spot of Littlest-squashing, when the snow-ball-rolling got out of control (this is - just to reassure you, a reconstruction of what I witnessed through the window - Littlest is fine, slope was gentle, momentum limited and her leg only a little bit squeezed).

Why did we reconstruct it? Because it looked 'ridiculous!'




All in all then, Littlest and the rest of us have squeezed a lot of experiences into a couple of snowy days. 

Who remembers the grey, drizzly days of their childhood? The boring days when we were made to wear coats because it was wet; when we couldn't play outside, because the grass was muddy and the swing would give us a soggy bottom; and when mum said 'hurry up' and 'get out of that puddle,' because she didn't want us to mess up her car with our dirty shoes. No-one. There were too many days like that and they blur into sameness. Memories come from the different days - the fun days: trips to the beach; a visit to a castle with a ghost walk or a maze; days with special outings to a ballet or the theatre; birthday parties; weddings; even funerals; and perhaps, best of all, activity-packed snow days.

A couple of blogs ago, I wrote that 'you either love snow or hate it.' I still hate driving in it, specifically other drivers driving too fast in it. But a bit like Christmas, how could anyone who has children possibly hate playing in it? Or walking the dogs in it?



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