Big Fat Update- Kind of- and a Winter Hike

Well!  Long time, no blog!  It's hard to force myself to spend any extra time on the laptop when I'm now working on it for hours a week at one of my new(ish) jobs.  I hesitate to even mention it, because the company I work for is super weird about confidentiality and constantly reminding its employees that THIS IS PRIVATE INFORMATION and TELL NO ONE and IF YOU TALK WE WILL COME FOR YOU IN THE NIGHT. 

I'm kidding, of course, about at least 40% of the previous sentence.  Good luck figuring out which part. 

And no, I'm not in an abusive professional relationship, and no, I was not recruited by the CIA.  Just typing that last phrase made it hard to type this one, because I'm giggling somewhat madly at the idea of working for anything like the CIA, what with my utter lack of a poker face, ability to get lost in a cardboard box, and penchant for giggling madly. 

Really, though, I've found a meme that describes at least one aspect of this work rather well.  Thanks, memes.

Still, I'm not ready to finally put this blog out of its misery and kill it off, so I'm declaring (yet again, somewhat wearily) that I will be attempting to post with some degree of consistency!  Just like I did in ye olden days when our chillins were little and nap time equaled blog time!


Um, let's see.  It's cold here.  Yay, Iowa.  Derek and I have agreed to jack our house's temperature all the way up to 70 degrees to combat this forecast:

I don't think I'm really allowed to complain about today's temp, as the high is supposed to be above zero, but tomorrow and Monday, look out:  I will say what I want.  You get to do that when the temperature isn't supposed to be above zero for days.  It's in the Iowan handbook.  I have no idea what's in the Minnesotan handbook for negative temp days.  "Congratulations, it's Tuesday, now get back to work"?

Because we knew this cold front was on its way, I took the kids on a forced march through the snowy forest preserve yesterday, although I charmingly called it a "Winter Scavenger Hunt" because they tend to balk at anything that calls to mind gulag-like conditions.  Maybe all three of them were Russians in their former lives?  Never mind that I don't believe in reincarnation.

Wow, ANYWAY. 

Seen above is the list of things we were going to be hunting for on our hike, a thumb belonging to Caedmon, and a face belonging to Atticus.  Pop quiz:  Which of our children is still young enough to be fooled by exercise disguised as fun?

Really, though, what is it about children and their inability to stay off the ground?  Even now, at any given public space that we enter, I'll turn around and at least one of them is rolling around on the ground.  I don't know what this is about.  They like getting the crap from other people's shoes in their hair?  Children have a better barometer for what's better for their bodies than adults?  I mean, who can tell?

Oh, look, they're on the ground again.  Imagine that.

Lest you think our hike was all fun and games and our lives are snow-winter-perfection, may I submit this photo for your consideration:

He had just learned we not even halfway through our hike.  That is not a happy face.

Not to worry, though, he got back on the ground- well, onto a log over a frozen creek bed- and everything was better.

We made it back to our vehicle, I mused aloud that we could make another loop through the preserve, as we'd only been out for around an hour, and Atticus climbed a tree in protest, saying we could go but he'd stay and take a nap in a tree.  We've read The Little Match Girl four times in the past month, so he knew how this would end.

In the end we did not go 'round again as I decided we had properly celebrated temperatures in the teens, so we went home, the kids got hot cocoa, and I got to be the adult and stay outside for another hour shoveling and waiting for the plow to charge by- for our more southerly friends, the snow plow drives by so fast it throws all kinds of snow from the street up onto the sidewalk that you have to shovel that mess, too, so you're not really done until it's gone by.  It did not complete our street until after I had come inside and hung up all my wet snow gear.  Naturally.

Iowans in the Spring

This weekend it's supposed to be in the 40's.  Do you what that means?  ABOVE FORTY DEGREES!  Last Saturday I told Derek I had to go for a run because "it's just so warm out!"

The high last weekend was 20 degrees.

I've lived in Iowa long enough now to know that the first warm weekend- this weekend- (40 DEGREES!) draws all the Iowans out of their homes and into the outdoor warmth.  There will be very few coats to be seen, and these poor creatures stumbling around in the sunlight will be a little worse for wear.  Think of the caterpillar wrapping itself tightly and cozily in its chrysalis, only to reveal itself some time later as a beautiful butterfly, then picture the reverse.  That is spring in Iowa. In September a reasonably fit people, with sun-kissed skin and a cheerful demeanor begin chirruping about the glories of fall, then shut themselves into their houses because humans aren't meant to survive days where -8 is the high temp (I'M LOOKING AT YOU, JANUARY).

This weekend those same people will hesitantly emerge, pale and confused by the burning orb hanging in the sky ('SUN'?  WHAT IS THIS 'SUN' OF WHICH YOU SPEAK?), with scaly dry patches covering their skin and the near-hysterical good mood that marks the end of a season's worth of struggle with Seasonal Affective Disorder.  The trails and sidewalks will be pulsing with the good people of Iowa, gulping fresh air and greeting neighbors they haven't seen in months with slightly manic good cheer mixed with a heavy dash of bewilderment.

"What did you say?  'Bike'?  What is 'ride a bike'?  Do you mean 'Netflix'?"

We will proceed to subsist on the memories of this week or so of good weather, because remember what May looks like here?

I Love Her, I Love Her Not

Although I did spend a large part of yesterday believing it was Groundhog Day and taking photos of Derek moving snow hither and thither, I also did other stuff.

I continued in my quest for the title of Woman Most Frugal and made a big ol' jar of hot cocoa mix.

Dear Martha Stewart,

You make it awfully difficult to hate you when you post penny-saving delicious hot cocoa mix recipes on your website.  I do have to wonder how much cocoa you go through every winter, though, when one recipe makes enough to feed the five thousand sans miracles.  I bet it would be a delicious complement to loaves and fishes. 

A firm handshake because I get the feeling hugs make you uncomfortable,

Kristy Crisler

Really, though, that jar up there is one of my giant Ball jars, not the regular canning sized ones, and that's half a recipe minus four servings.  It's also made from three ingredients you probably already have in your pantry.  Find it here.

If you need more convincing, it is Adelaide-approved:

An hour playing outside in the snow gives a girl wild hair, and is the reason I made the cocoa in the first place- first because nothing's better than hot cocoa after cold snow, but second and more importantly because it's winter and we've been spending oodles of time together inside, so when they go outside and leave me in here aaaaaalllll by myself I need to positively reinforce that like the dickens.  Martha understands.

It's also Caedmon-approved,

and Atticus-approved.

I think this means we can give it the Crisler Seal of Approval.  I can't decide if this would please Martha- she seems terribly achievement-oriented- or if she'd meet this announcement with disdain.  She's a tough one to read.

Probably best if I don't mention any of this to her, as I didn't follow her exact instructions (skim milk rather than whole, gasp!), plus I dumped cold milk and mix together in my handy dandy Cocomotion-thingy instead of "warming the milk in a saucepan over medium-low heat, taking care not to let the milk boil..."  This would no doubt be construed as outright defiance in her eyes.  Or maybe it wouldn't.  I don't know.  As you can tell, Martha and I have a complicated relationship.

My Husband is So Selfish

It's Sunday night, Downton Abbey is on, and what is my husband doing?  Watching some football game.

It's also Groundhog Day, so even if we weren't going to watch Downton, it's tradition for us to watch the comedic genius of Bill Murray together, but no.  Instead he's watching football.


Some might say he's earned the right to watch the most important game of the year in one of his favorite sports because he was outside at 5:30 this morning clearing our driveway so we could get out and go to church- but then church was cancelled due to unsafe road conditions.  So I would say a hearty "NO" to those people.

Others might bring up the fact that he was again outside this afternoon clearing away all the additional snow the skies dropped on us throughout the day.  Hey, I had a busy day, too.

I took pictures of our white street.

Derek cleaned off our vehicles.

I took pictures of our trees.

I also took pictures of my sad hydrangea bowed down under the weight of wet, heavy snow.

Then I scurried inside because the temperature was starting to drop from a manageable 16 degrees to God knows what and the wind was starting to blow and I am a delicate flower who was raised in warmer climes; I cannot be expected to deal with this extreme cold stuff.

Instead I go inside and take pictures of my husband doing snow stuff.  He was raised in these parts and thus thinks nothing of the nine or ten or however many inches we got today.

Please do not forget the topic at hand today, though:  My selfish husband.

Here he is struggling to plow a path next to my hydrangeas.  I just knew he was going to complain about how they were in his way and insist I cut them back, even though they've never been a problem before.  I composed a whole mental argument from the cozy innards of our home.  Never mind that he didn't end up saying anything about it; in my head he did.

I also took important photos of the last of my paperwhites.

While Derek did what?  More of the same.

A day of that and he thinks he can just watch whatever he wants for a night with a small boy tucked in beside him.  Yes, I got to pick what we watched last night, but this isn't about last night.  It's about tonight.

Being the gracious person I am, however, I have decided to forgive him this pretty major inconvenience to myself.  Someone in this marriage is really lucky.

Lists Are Your Friends

I don't even know what that title means.  Anyway, onward.

• Yesterday and today the high temperature was close to 50.  Fif-ty.  Enough snow melted that I was able to see parts of my flower beds, and yes, I did put my face close enough to the dirt to smell it.  I also found myself searching for green shoots, even though I know the ground is still frozen and that a few days of above-freezing temperatures is not enough to compel flowers to begin their growth cycle, and that if I were to see plants this early in the season, it would in fact be a bad thing, overall.  Whatever.  I'm getting desperate.  Plus we're in a blizzard warning all day tomorrow and tomorrow night.  I will never see my flowers again.  

• It would appear that our children have no volume control, but only when we're in public, and only when they're saying semi-mortifying things.  At church Sunday morning, I had just picked Adelaide up from her class, and we were in the common area of the children's section, which is just crawling with, well, children, when Adelaide announced to me that "I know why you don't like me singing that song 'I'm sixty and I know it.'"  Oh, no no no.  "It's because it actually goes 'I'M SEXY'!"  See, every once in a while they play a pop music station on Adelaide's school bus, so one day last year Adelaide began chanting "I'm sexy and I know it" after school, I freaked out a little bit, contacted a couple people in the school district, had a talk with Adelaide about how it was inappropriate, then forgot about it.  I didn't even know she was actually saying "I'm sixty and I know it" until she very clearly and very loudly declared so at church.  Thirty seconds later Caedmon, who had been staring at a young father sporting a really quite impressive moustache began to hold forth in a carrying voice about said facial hair:  "LOOK AT THAT GUY'S MOUSTACHE.  DO YOU SEE IT MOMMY?  MOMMY?  THAT GUY.  HE HAS A MOUSTACHE.  A BIG HUGE MOUSTACHE.  RIGHT THERE MOMMY.  DO YOU SEE THE MOUSTACHE?"  That evening we had decided to eat supper in an actual restaurant where they serve you food and you don't have to clean up afterward (aren't restaurants amazing?).  Caedmon asked Derek what was in the yellow bottle next to the ketchup.  I didn't hear Derek's answer, but I did hear Caedmon incredulously repeat "MOUSE TURDS?"  As did everyone with a 100 foot radius.  You're welcome, adoring public.  Enjoy your food.

• Monday morning it snowed around three inches, on top of however many inches we still had on the ground.  That afternoon the temp climbed up to around 40 (40 degrees!  It was like summer around here!), plus Derek didn't have to work, so we all went to a nearby park to sled and throw snow at each other.  I can't really call it a snowball fight because the only person in this family who can a) throw a snowball more than ten feet and additionally b) throw with any kind of accuracy is Derek, so it was really more Derek hitting the rest of us with snowballs while we all flailed around.  I took half a dozen pictures that all look pretty much like this one:

Guess where that snowball ended up?  The same place the other thirty did:  splatted somewhere on Adelaide's person.

Stir-Crazy

Stir-craziness has set in.

I made it to February.  Yes, I had cabin fever before, but that's completely different from stir-crazy (because I say it is).

First of all, let's all agree that this is the longest winter ever.  Ever.  I'm pretty sure I say that every winter, but this time it's for real.  Longest. winter. ever.  (Until next winter, when it'll be for really reals.)

I am so desperate to get outside.  I look for any excuse.  Here, Adelaide, let me take that compost bowl out for you!  No, no, I'll get the trash, Atticus.  And the mail.  And anything else that gets me out of this house.

It doesn't help that Atticus has been doing this lately:

That's our five-year-old, shoveling the sidewalk.  And he's good at it.  And he loves to do it.  I let him try it the other day, thinking it'd be like last winter, where he'd shovel for ten minutes, get almost nothing done, then I'd get to take my turn and get some real outdoor exercise.  But nope:  apparently it's at the age of five when you suddenly come upon the strength and agility to shovel snow (keeping in mind this was only a few inches of light, fluffy snow.  But still.).

Thankfully, Atticus is sick today, which means I got to take a turn shoveling.  (And by "thankfully," I mean "unfortunately."  Mostly.)

There's a scene in one of the Bourne movies (I don't remember which, I think the second or third; I'm sure Derek knows, which is super helpful to you, I know) where Jason Bourne is in Russia for I don't remember what reason, and he's knocking on a door or something, and there's an old lady next door sweeping the snow off her front stoop.

I never really understood why she was doing that; I mean, it's Russia, for heaven's sake.  Any snow she sweeps off is going to be immediately replaced the next day, right?  Why bother?  

But then came this morning, when I spent close to an hour sweeping every last bit of snow off our front porch (for absolutely no reason; no one's going to be sitting on those rocking chairs until spring at least; unless, of course, you're this guy:

otherwise known as Derek-the-Iowa-native), then I shoveled our front sidewalk, which really didn't need to be shoveled at all, given that Derek had cleared it with the snow blower yesterday morning.  I was determined to be outside, however, (painfully) breathing in the frigid air as I scraped off the inch of snow the snow blower left behind.  

So now I think I understand the Russian lady sweeping her front stoop.  (Except I have no idea what it's like to actually live in Russia.  Details.)  It kind of reminds me of when I was pregnant with Adelaide, and more than anything else my middle of the night cravings were for fresh air.  Our neighborhood was relatively safe, but relatively safe isn't really good enough when you want to go for a two am walk, and we usually shrink-wrapped the living room windows for insulation, so I was left to crack the bedroom window just wide enough to force my nose and mouth through the slit, greedily inhaling the winter air, trying not to let the room get so cold it woke Derek up.  

Hey, that kind of makes me feel better:  I may be going stir-crazy, but at least I'm not pregnant!

A List

• Isn't it strange how little things can evoke sudden and unexpected pangs of nostalgia?  There's a pastor at our church that occasionally preaches in the regular service, and more than once I've heard him pronounce the word "wolf" the same way my dad does: "woof," with no detectable 'L' sound.  I remember for a while Dad worked with a man named "Wolfgang" who went by the nickname "Wolf," or "Woof" in the case of my dad.  This was endlessly amusing to me, no doubt because word pronunciation was something I could understand, as opposed to talk of thermodynamics and the ever-present injection molding machines, which might just be the most boring topic of conversation in the entire world, unless of course you're a plastics engineer, in which case they're apparently fascinating.

• Derek and I got to go on a date the other day.  We went out for lunch, then did some last minute Christmas shopping, along with the rest of the population of central Iowa.  I was distracted half the time by the blaring music (why do so many places insist on blasting your eardrums with their poor choice of music?    I thought music played in restaurants and stores was supposed to be subtle, something to set a certain tone to your eating or shopping experience.  Am I just getting old and cranky?) of horrible- horrible- popular renditions of traditional Christmas music.  After listening to some talent-less pop star breathe her way through Let It Snow and some other current music flunky growl an almost incomprehensible, electric guitar studded version of Oh, Christmas Tree, I decided that unless your first name is Nat, Bing, Judy, Dean, Ella, Frank, or Harry, you should not be allowed to record Christmas music of any kind.  I can think of a few rare exceptions, and perhaps you can, too, but in the future any playing of those is going to need to be approved by me in advance, because my opinion is always the right one.  Obviously.

• It snowed last night.  And this morning.  In fact, it's still lightly snowing now.  Not a lot, we've accumulated somewhere in the four- to five-inch range, but enough to give us a white Christmas.  Oh!  And here's the forecast for tomorrow:

This is just fine with me, as I don't have to leave the house.  Derek does.  Poor Derek.  He also had to get up at 5:30 this morning before church to clear all that snow on our sidewalk and driveway.  He also took care of our neighbor's sidewalk.  Poor Derek.  Nice Derek.  

Another reason I don't mind that forecast is that I've finally learned how to layer!  In the past I thought "layering" meant wearing a long-sleeved shirt with maybe a short-sleeved shirt underneath.  Then I moved north.  Right now I'm wearing lined pants with long johns underneath, a sweater, a heavy cable-knit cardigan, thick socks with slippers, a scarf, and a knit hat.  I may look homeless, but I'm warm.  

• And finally, something that made me laugh and laugh and laugh.  It's very name is pure adorableness.  And yes, that's a word now, if only because of this video.  Be sure to turn your audio up before pressing play so you can force everyone around you to share in your joy.

          Adorable Talking Porcupine Loves Pumpkin

 

Please Disregard My Last Post

You remember.  The one about spring?


Today is May 3rd.  The third of May.

I suppose I shouldn't complain.  My tulip buds do have a little color.


See?

In related news, I learned that planting spring bulbs on either side of the front steps may not have been the best idea.  Atticus "helped" shovel off the front porch and steps, flattening the tulips and hyacinths that weren't already buried in heavy, slushy snow.  

I am so. sick. of snow.

On a brighter note:  Cassi Renee suggested a magical potion by the name of "Liquid Fence" that could possibly save my future tulips from the demon vermin that inhabit our back yard.  After I read that comment the other day, I may or may not have gone a little Rain Man and paced around the house, chanting "Liquid Fence.  Liquid Fence.  Liquid Fence," to set it permanently in my head.  

I have not gone to the garden store to get any yet, because it started snowing Wednesday night and didn't stop until late this morning, and I was a little afraid that if I stepped inside Earl May and saw all the blooming flowers I would burst into tears.  

They're probably pretty used to that kind of thing at this point, though.

Blargh

Isn't it funny how five inches of snow in December causes our children to wake up and cry, "SNOW!", but five inches of snow in March provokes responses more like, "Snow.  Blargh."  Your perspective goes from "Winter wonderland, tra la la," to "Freezing cold, white homogenous wasteland, blargh."

Adelaide is currently using a magic eraser to clean off the front of the fridge, because she's having her umpteenth snow day of the school year and wouldn't stop talking to me.  (WHAT?  I talked to her all morning, okay?  This is naptime, the most glorious time of day, where I don't have to talk to anybody if I don't want to.  And I usually don't want to.)

The good news is: despite all this snow, it is March, which means that spring is supposedly on the way (I'm skeptical), and the kiddos and I are heading south this coming weekend to spend spring break with family.


-Attention, internet creepers:  the previous paragraph is not an invitation to come try and break into our home whilst we are away; notice that I said 'the kiddos and I,' which means you'll still have to face 6 feet 5 inches of corn-fed Iowa beef that answers to the name Derek.  Trust me when I say you don't want to go there.-


I was daydreaming with our children this morning about all the things we're going to do while we're there, listing things like play outside, color with chalk, play outside, jump on the trampoline, and play outside.  Adelaide glumly informed me that we're not going to be able to do any of those fun grandma's house things because of all the snow and cold, when I reminded her that we were going to a magical land called southern Kansas where the forecasted highs while we're there are in the 70's.  THE 70'S.  Adelaide and Atticus jumped around in glee, and Cade ran circles around them, excited because they were excited.

Until then, we just have to get through the rest of this snow day (Adelaide is now cleaning the front of the dishwasher, humming a merry tune because she thinks she's almost done- little does she know how filthy I just noticed the oven door and stove top are!  *Cue evil cackling*), a dance clinic and performance that have been squished into one day due to the snow, parent teacher conferences, and a million other little things.

Gracious sakes, how long has it been since someone cleaned the trash can?  Maybe I do love snow days!

Raise Your Hand If You Don't Like Playing In Snow

Here's my question:  What is it about snow and kids?  They can't seem to resist its siren call, even when you're pretty sure going out to play in it is going to result in the loss of digits essential to needlepoint and balance.  

Case in point:  Our school district cancelled school today because of a combination of snow, high winds and the wind chill factor- in the other words, we're in the middle of a winter storm.  Great!  We get to sleep in (well, the kiddos and I get to sleep in- Derek still has to get up and shovel and do other man stuff), stay in our jammies as long as we want, etc, etc.  The kids have all morning to basically do whatever they want, provided what they want involves books and toys and a decided lack of blood due to sibling battle.

But all they really want is to get outside and play in the snow.

After much pleading, I finally caved, with the caveat that only Atticus and Adelaide could go out- Caedmon was just too little to be out in this weather.  This resulted in cheering from the A's and pathetic weeping from Cade.  I felt so bad for the little guy that I relented (after 30 whole seconds of stalwart deafness to his pleas), spent the next 20 minutes in a hurricane of snow pants, coats, boots, scarves, mittens, and hats to the point where they were sick of layering and just wanted to get outside already, and then...

I made them sit for another minute so I could take photos.

Caedmon was so grateful to be included he didn't care that he could only see out of one eye or that he couldn't really move his arms.  And for all his pleading, he only lasted about four minutes outside.

What was nice about this storm was that almost all our previous snow had melted in the few 40 degree days we had recently, so at least we're not having one of those winters where snowfall stacks upon snowfall stacks upon snowfall (so far).  

I always think it's funny how A and A ask me to come outside to play.  I always say, "No."  You'd think they'd learn.  I do usually try and come up with half-baked excuse as to why.  Today's excuse was hot cocoa.  

Whatever keeps me inside, man.

Snow, Glorious Snow!

So, it snowed last night.

Our backyard late yesterday afternoon:

Our backyard this morning:

They're saying we got about a foot of snow, and we're still in a blizzard watch until 6 pm today because of the high winds I can still hear wooshing around the house.  

But look!

That, my friends, is Derek clearing our driveway with the snow blower we bought at a garage sale over a year ago.  Because of last year's extremely mild winter, this is the first chance he's gotten to use it, and I'm happy to report that it works great, which saves him hours of back-breaking work with the shovel.  I may even have channeled my inner mad scientist when I heard it start up, cackling and exclaiming, "It's alive- IT'S ALIVE!"  

We're pretty excited about that snow blower.

Hey, have I ever told you guys about how one day at work, my first winter in Connecticut, I was talking to a coworker of mine who hailed from Buffalo, NY (home to way more snow than we get here or in CT), and when she mentioned something about a snow blower, my response was, "What is that- like a leaf blower?"  And did I tell you about how she doubled over from laughing so hard when she realized I was being serious? 

I didn't think I'd ever live that one down.

I was certainly thankful I only had to use the shovel to scoop the snow off the van and break up the frozen chunks of snow on the sidewalk so Derek can use that wonderful, magical snow blower to clear it off tonight.  I was only out there for around 45 minutes, which turned out to be plenty of time for me to experience the fun that is snow + wind.  I emit a charming little squeal-laugh-cry every time huge gusts of wind blow stinging snow onto every exposed inch of my skin.  I tried to make like a penguin and turn my back to the wind when it gusted, but it turns out I'm not so great at anticipating the whims of a capricious winter wind.

On the bright side, I got to experience a combination snow/thunderstorm last night; I've never seen lightning and snow issuing from the sky at the same time before.  We were also fortunate enough not to lose our power, Adelaide got a snow day from school, and the kiddos and I don't have to go anywhere today- a definite plus when I keep seeing notices from a nearby town that say things like "Such-and-such highway closed due to six-foot-drifts."  Yeehaw!

Warning: Do Not Operate Heavy Machinery or Make Parenting Decisions While Sick

Our household has been suffering from a little bug.

Meaning we've been sick.

Not really sick, just severe headache- gallons of snot production- fever- queasy stomach- kind of sick.  Well enough to be able to go about our normal routines, but not well enough to feel good while doing it.

Several days ago, Adelaide brought home a paper from school informing us that the 100th day of school is approaching.  They will be celebrating this day a number of ways, one of which includes having each student in her class bring 100 of some small item to show the class on their Show and Share day (which is what they now call Show and Tell).  The teacher provided a few helpful suggestions, all of which Adelaide immediately discarded.  She had a few suggestions herself, like 100 doorknobs and 100 carrots, both of which I shot down.

The next day, my feverish brain was still trying to think of 100 something's for her to bring on Friday.  I cast my eyes around the room, searching for inspiration, when they settled on the ibuprofin bottle.

Eureka!

100 ibuprofin tablets!  Now there's something I bet no one else in her class will bring this week.  I genuinely believed this to be a brilliant idea for about five whole minutes, before common sense trickled through the illness that has been making me so stupid.  Maybe taking 100 ibuprofin tablets to a Kindergarten class wouldn't be such a good idea.  In fact, maybe it's one of the worst/most dangerous ideas I've ever had (recently, anyway).

Rest assured Adelaide will not be taking any sort of medication to Show and Share this week.  I still don't know what she's taking, but it will not involve any sort of chemical.

In addition to stupid, this sickness has been making me feel a trifle out of sorts and filled with a general sense of malaise (read: cranky and lazy).

We had a little over an inch of snow fall the night before last.  Now, I'm usually really good about shoveling the sidewalk, especially when there's so little actual snow on it.  I really should have gotten myself out there yesterday afternoon and shoveled while it was still relatively fresh.

But you know what?  I just didn't feel like it.

Instead I let it sit there, while the temperature dropped down to 6 last night and froze everything outside.

I still didn't feel like shoveling today, but I also didn't want to risk being fined by the city for not shoveling within the allotted 24-hour period, so hauled myself out the door, snow shovel in hand.

I quickly discovered that there was still a thin top layer of snow that I was able to scoop off easily, but the layer underneath had melted a bit yesterday (it got above freezing!  yippee!), then refrozen last night.

I spent a couple minutes hacking at a single square foot before I got frustrated and yelled, "This is CRAP!"

And startled the nice, older gentleman that lives down the street who was out walking his little dog.

To make a long story short, this is not really a good week to be my neighbor, child, child's classmate, child's teacher, etc.

Sorry about that. (And the slick sidewalk that I quickly gave up on.  Please don't walk by our house any time soon.)

Winter Fun

The past weekend, temperatures climbed into the balmy thirties.  This prompted Adelaide and I to spend a measurable portion of Saturday and Sunday in the backyard, engaged in various winter activities.  The warm(ish) weather gives me hope for spring, despite the fact that the low tonight is supposed to be -11 and the high tomorrow is a whopping 4 degrees (unfortunately that's on the Farenheit scale, without any windchill). 

Saturday afternoon, with all three Crisler men down for their naps, I suggested to Adelaide we go play in the backyard.  She agreed after securing a promise from me to pull her around the yard on the sled.  This plan was hampered by the fact that we apparently have no rope anywhere, nor do we have anything that could reasonably imitate a rope. 

So I used my maternity jeans.  They worked surprisingly well- just knot one pant leg around the front handles, and use the other leg to pull. 

Adelaide loved being pulled around, and I got some excellent exercise- at it's most shallow points, the snow in our backyard measures about six inches deep, and the deepest are five-feet drifts.  This resulted in my having to lift my knees up to waist-height for every step, giving me what felt like a workout on a StairMaster.  For some reason she found it hilarious to watch me stop every so often, panting, to rest.

When I finally collapsed from exhaustion, Adelaide clambered out of the sled and declared it was time to build a snowman.  Please note that I grew up in a place that has about ten inches of average snowfall.  Huxley, Iowa receives about 32.  I vaguely remember begging my Dad (one of the few times we had enough of the right kind of snow)  to come outside and build a snowman.  I think I spent about ten minutes helping before whining that it was cold and going back inside for my hot chocolate.  I am no expert on winter-snow-fun. And now my darling daughter wanted me to build a snowman.

 Maybe three minutes into this venture, I realized a snowman just wasn't happening.  I tried explaining much of the previous paragraph to her.

Guess how much she cared?

So we proceeded in our attempt to build a creature made of snow.  Eventually we ended up not so much with a snowman as a snowlump.  But we were pretty pleased. 

Adelaide with SnowLump.  And those things under the smile are supposed to be buttons, not snowman acne.

Sunday brought fresh horrors.  After again pulling Adelaide around on the sled (I didn't last as long as I did on Saturday), she wanted to make another snowman.  In a desperate attempt to distract her from the idea of a whole family of snowlumps, I foolishly suggested a snowball fight.  She latched onto the idea immediately.

Sitting about four feet apart from eachother, I began tossing handfuls of loose snow at her.  Rather than retaliating, she was slowly and methodically making perfect little snowballs, piling them in front of her.  "Typical," I thought.  "She's more interested in making things look a certain way than in actually playing."  While I taunted her with comments like "I'm going to bury you!" she just smiled and continued to build her pile.  After a few minutes of this, she finally hurled a snowball at me.  And I discovered her little snowballs were not just pretty little spheres, but hard-packed ice bullets.  And her aim was better than mine.  And she had built herself an impressive cache of ammunition.

When that first ball hit me, I said "Ouch!" under my breath.  Adelaide heard me and cackled madly.  I'm not sure if it was on purpose, but she seemed to be aiming for my arms and legs, where I had less padding than on the torso, where I had been hitting her.  After she had hit me enough to raise what I was sure were several bruises, I began to complain aloud.  Rather than ceasing in the beating of her mother, she said, "Man up, Mommy.  That's how snowball fights are supposed to go."

Man up?  Oh,  I would be talking to Derek about that one.

I continued on in the battle for a few minutes for form's sake, then finally cried, "Mercy!"  (In an affected jovial tone, trying to keep the petulant note from my voice.)   I had to remind myself that I am the adult to keep from pelting enough snow at my four-year-old's face to erase her satsified smirk.  She was the clear winner.

It's probably a good thing that it will be too cold to go outside tomorrow.

Unbeknownst to me, Derek took a picture of our snow war.  It really was more fierce than this photo would have you believe.

Snow Day

Like so much of the country, we were hit by a snowstorm yesterday.  This resulted in preschool being cancelled for Adelaide, which means... Snow Day!

I know all five of you that read this (Hi Mom!) are just dying to know what we're doing today:

After a morning of surprisingly little fighting, Adelaide and Atticus just had lunch...

(Notice how beautiful my amaryllis is looking?  I love having flowers blooming inside when it's snowy out.)

...which means it's almost Atticus's naptime (yay), but until then he's still playing hard...

... and Caedmon got all dressed up for a day spent lounging around the house.

Thrilling, isn't it?

Derek, of course, still had to go into work today, after spending some quality time with our snow shovel this morning.  And the lucky guy will probably be heading back outside after he gets home tonight to shovel yet again.

In other, more exciting, news, Derek's sister Stacie and her husband Grant had their baby girl yesterday!  Brielle Rebecca joins big sister Aria, who's two, making Derek and I an uncle and aunt to two little girls now.

The most impressive thing about this post?  It was all done with one hand (yeah, it took way longer than it should have), while holding Caedmon with my left arm and trying not to let him drool all over the keyboard.